Death and the Maiden.....

So how come the Decemberists haven't blipped on the Occupied Country radar until this week? Their new album is a dark delight. Hop along to Spotify and have a listen it's almost (heh) a concept album of Seventies' pretension. I say 'almost' but thinking about it and listening to it I would say it's definitely a concept album with a theme of knavish roguery, infanticide and other nefarious doings. It's downloading from Amazon as I type so Spotify can't be killing music can it?

Another cracking new album to join The Felice Brothers, Elbow, Bon Iver and The Fleet Foxes from the past couple of years (if that) that are up there with the best. In fact there's probably at least a couple more that will come to me later, but my brain won't work like it used to and instead of what I want to remember I usually end up with entirely unrelated nonsense that has no place in the unfolding scenario.

A few of us trooped off to see Tinariwen and Tunng grace the same stage last Friday night. A great show marred by noisy, drunken feckers and an absolutely packed to the point of 'can you see the fire escape?' panic. Being the age I am I needed a pee and began my tortuous attempt to reach the exit and toilet before I needed to go no more. It took ages and after my visit I simply couldn't get back to where the rest of the gang were. In fact I could barely get through the doors and contented myself stood just outside with a glass of something alcoholic and an ear attuned to the sounds within, a sound that just works even though it shouldn't. Recommended.

And just when music was beginning to cheer me up again, I hear an advert on the TV for 'May You Never, John Martyn's Greatest Hits.' That didn't take long did it? And the, on top of that Spandau Ballet announce they're reforming because they 'miss the touring and playing together.' Oh...and the money I would've thought.

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Dearest and Youngest's Darlin' have gone to the Pictures (as we still say 'round these parts) to see 'Marley and Me', a film that, in my view, holds all the attraction of a ghastly, incurable disease. I would sincerely rather chew my own kneecap off than waste money on twee Anistonised crap like that. Life's too short.

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So, what a week it's been what with St Jade dying in a blaze of Red Top inspired hypocrisy of the highest order and her widower being allowed to attend the funeral instead of being banged up like any other similar miscreant. I suppose it's not Mr and Mrs Tweed's fault though, after all if they didn't sell the press wouldn't be interested. Panem et circenses. Bread and circuses.

And then United go and lose two on the trot – Liverpool and Fulham – and the title race is wide open again. Well, as 'wide open' as a two horse race can be, but at least there's a bit of tension in the air over at OT. Squeaky bum time as somebody once said. And City somehow contrive to snatch a very dodgy win over Aalborg and progress to their first European quarter final since Martin Luther nailed his Theses to the door of that church in Wiitenburg (or so it seems). And big Joe Royle returning to Boundary Park. Oldham's most successful manager ever who, when he left, left them in the Premiership and now returns as they attempt to get back into the Championship via the playoffs. You should never go back Joe, it will end in tears.

Bread and circuses.

Through My Sails....

Memories of Barcelona.

Loud Yanks sat next to us at the Zaraha Cocktail lounge talking skiing and 'powdery snow' while throwing back local beer.

Sitting sipping and watching humanity move past is as enjoyable as it can get. With no deadlines, no schedule and no plans it's great just to drift.

Youngest phoning, he's got four tickets (2 seated, 2 standing) for NEIL YOUNG! Nottingham sometime in June. I don't care what I'm doing. I don't care if I'm dead. I'll be there!

I'll be there!

Off to 'La Pedrera', Gaudi's greatest creation. We were astonished by the sheer architectural rebelliousness of the apartments and the other rooms, but the roof absolutely blew me – and Dearest away.

And then off to Parc Guell where the sun shone and the buskers busked and the visitors gasped. Gorgeous olives and a beer as we sat staring at Barcelona below us. Later to a shadier, quieter part of the park where a Lutenist filled the air with 'Sheep May Safely Graze'.

Watching City beat Allborg 2-0 in the EUFA cup.

Stumbling across a delightful mono-lingual tapas bar and quaffing draught San Miguel and partaking of the gratis olives, pickled gherkins and unknown - but tasty as buggery - meaty stuff. After a couple of drinks we venture forth and wander round Las Ramblas and the rest of the Barre Gotic.

Sitges. 45 minutes on the train – 11.40 Euros for 2 return tickets. After a saunter up and down the sea front we wandered around the old town before settling down for a rather nice bottle of sparkling rose between us and a spaghetti bolognese for me and a pepperoni pizza for Dearest.

Train back to Estacio del Franca and into a local bar showing Utd v Liverpool. We managed to see most of the 2nd half. What a shame that the 'Pool hammered 'em 4-1. ;-)

Off to the Barre Gotic on a lovely, almost balmy evening, where we had a couple of glasses of truly wonderful wine and some Tapas before sauntering around, getting hopelessly lost and acquiring a taxi to take us home.

Walking up the sea front to Poble Neu and then back down the front to Barconoletta. Miles, absolute miles in the sunshine as Barcelona's Sunday promenaders strolled, roller-bladed, bicycled and jogged.

Sauntering through a packed Parc de la Ciutadella late in the afternoon and trying to remember when our parks were as well used, as well tended and a joy to be in.


Sunday afternoon in the park


From the hotel window.


Fountain.


Window. Parc Guell.


A window in Gaudi's house. Guell Park.


On the roof. La Pedrera.


On the roof. La Pedrera.


On the roof. La Pedrera.


La Pedrera model.


Underwood typewriter, La Pedrera. My Grandad had one of these.


Ducks in the early morning sun. Parc de la Ciutadella.

It's a Mystery..

Something that has always intrigued has reared its ugly head again. I was reading John O'Farrell's 'An Utterly Impartial History of Britain' and he recounts the Boudicca uprising against the Romans when she and her followers attacked that there London laying waste to a lot of it. O'Farrell's footnote on the incident reads: “Thirteen feet beneath the pavements of the capital there is still a layer of the burnt remains left by Boudicca; part of it it exposed at the Barbican.”

Thirteen feet beneath? That's the key part of this that intrigues me. Whenever an archaeological activity takes place it always results in digging. Everything from the past appears to be underground. Artifacts, buildings, roads...whatever, always underground.

So here's my question: Is the World getting fatter? Is it somehow expanding year on year as a result of the extra layers of, well, dirt pile up? Anyone got any inside knowledge on this?

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A mate had a spare ticket to see Oldham Athletic v Leeds last Monday evening so I dashed home from work, devoured some absolutely divine sausage and mash (food of the Gods) and hightailed it up to Boundary Park. Oldham were playing in neon pink for the evening to support a local campaign to acquire a state-of-the-art breast scanner for the local hospital. It was a dour game that bucked up slightly in a two minute spell in the second half during which both goals were scored in a one all draw.

When Leeds equalised previously incognito Leeds fans revealed themselves via their inability to sit tight. It started to get quite ugly as some of the more 'Leeds-and-proud-of-it' hard boys started offering any Oldham fans out regardless of the odds. All this was happening about five yards from me and I was suddenly transported back to the 60s, 70s and 80s when attending a match carried the strong possibility of a trip to casualty. It didn't last long as the stewards and the Police soon stepped in and escorted the idiots out of the ground. As they went they were cheerfully flicking V signs at the Oldham supporters and shouting obscenities to all and sundry. Typical football-supporter thugs.

Except that they weren't typical football-supporter thugs. They weren't teenagers, they were grown men and by that I mean men in their forties. Men who probably had kids of their own, wives, mortgages, jobs. Why would men that age act in that way? Actively encouraging violence as though it would be the highlight of their evening?

As long as my arse points South I'll never understand that mentality. I guess I'm a lover not a fighter.

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Dearest and I are off to Barcelona come Wednesday. Five days in one of my favourite cities with the added bonus of VIP status at the hotel. Add to that the fact we've booked the VIP suite at the airport on departure and should be luxury all the way. I'll be taking all my technology and I've decided to see just what can be done with it when travelling. The camera, the mobile PC that is my phone and my newly acquired Netbook will all be packed in my rucksack along with my iPod. There's free WiFi throughout the hotel so the Netbook should come in really handy. Traditional media will be represented by a few books: the aforementioned History of Britain along with Stuart Maconie's search for Middle England 'Adventures on the High Teas' and the Rough Guide to Barcelona.

Can't wait.

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Y'know it was a year ago today that I handed in my bag and uniform and escaped from the hell that was the Royal Mail. A year! Where's that year gone? Faster than the speed of light that went. It only seems a few months ago. I still wake sometimes and think I'm still there. Now I don't know about you but I think that that signifies some deep psychological trauma. I still get flashbacks when I see those little red elastic bands lying around the streets, when I find myself behind one of their red vans or when I see one of the poor buggers trudging through the windswept streets with a ten ton bag on their shoulders.

It seriously has fundamentally altered my attitude to work and I promise myself I will NEVER find myself in such a ghastly situation again. Consumed 24/7. Incapable of going through my life without the thoughts of having to go and do that job constantly in my mind. Snapping at my nearest and dearest, depressed and downright bloody miserable. How the hell did I get through it?

Beats me. But I did and I'm now in a completely different world. I'm so glad I had enough skills and intelligence to get me out of there but I do feel sorry for those still there as they face a crap future under the 'leadership' of Adam Crozier.

So I think I'll make the most of this moment. I 've got a vegetable curry, naan and chana dhal with a free bottle of Cobra thrown in to plough through, a nice robust red to quaff later and a few episodes of QI, Touring Britain and Mad Men to enjoy. Cheers!


I've not been out and about with my camera recently so I've been doctoring a few of my old snaps. I found this website www.tiltshiftmaker.com that allows you to make fake tilt shift pics that look like models.


Here's another.