Tomorrow, a road trip...

"Did you feel anything?"

"Yes. Only for a couple of seconds but that was enough. Thank you."

Saw the 'Where The Wild Things Are' trailer for the first time today. I thought I might cry.
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A London Poem

Saw this man perform not too long ago. Very good. This made me laugh.


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radiohead

old video

Just in case there was any doubt about how truly magnificent Radiohead are then watch this video.

It's old.

A fan passes out.

The re-start is amazing.
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Sigur Ros

new video

There is beauty in this world if you know where to look... and listen.

This is a new one from La Blogotheque and their Take-Away Shows series. Honestly, I spend way too much of my time re-watching some of the performances that they've captured.

Sigur Ros are nothing if not amazing and, despite the clientele of this old Parisian cafe being seemingly unimpressed, this is brilliant. Enjoy.
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random prose

an excerpt from 'Keep Calm and Carry On'The music washed over her as she stepped into the place. Outside was cold and filled with car horns, screeching breaks and steam rising from the roadside: but inside was a cocoon; an enclosure filled (too full?) with people chattering, drinking, laughing and dancing. She could hear that the music was coming from the far end of the long bar, in the back room, but had no idea how she was going to get there through the throngs of people. She also needed a drink.

She could feel the smile widening as she politely, but firmly, maneuvered herself to the bar. She was standing in a place that she always wished had existed but never experienced. Her small fantasy had come true and that had never happened before. A place so fully realized from the one she saw in her head that it was scary; as if someone had taken the blueprints from her dreaming sleep and built it. And now, somehow, her winding path had led her to it.

She felt intoxicated before her drink had even arrived. The rows of liquor behind the bar, the overworked but effortlessly cool and grizzled bar tender who didn’t seem to be in a rush but seemed to be doing everything anyway, the dark orange walls, low lighting and candles flickering everywhere made the bar seem new, familiar, foreign and welcoming all at once. She caught her reflection in the large mirror that she was facing, as she handed over her money for what seemed like the strongest Vodka Collins she’d ever tasted, and she was grinning like an idiot. Everyone’s going to think I’ve taken something she thought. Drink in hand she began to move through the packed bar toward the back room, with her arms raised to make the squeezing by strangers easier, and to provide much needed protection from potentially unruly hands, she caught a glimpse of her watch: her newly found friends would be here shortly she thought - leaving her enough time to continue to be wide-eyed and grinningly uncool by herself. Riding on a wave of smiles and "excuse me's" she made it to the end of the bar and to the small glass door surrounded by red drapes. A list of bands that she'd never heard of and their stage times was stuck dead centre. She tried to work out which band she could hear but the door swung open and a man clad head-to-toe in tight denim with a little sweat on his brow burst through holding a half empty bottle of beer and an unlit cigarette. He laughed as he briefly held the door open long enough for her to scuttle through and into the dark and loud of the back room.

She didn't know how, but she just knew that the room would be small and unlike the cavernous performance spaces that are usually attached to such small bars. It was tiny. And drenched in the unfamiliar and joyous sounds of whatever band were playing. Whoever they were, the small and tightly packed audience were rapt. She shuffled closer and watched the faces in the crowd smiling and singing softly along with music and felt herself begin to sway. She closed her eyes and listened. The harmonies coming at her from the stage were beautiful and sent her head spinning. Smiling, she thought of how she'd got here. Of how strange she now felt. Of this new world. Of the possibilities. Of the unknown.


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england team talk

There are few people more annoying than fat James Cordon. Yeah, I used fat. If that offends you then call me a "fatist", fatty. However, I'm loathe to totally categorize anyone in such 2D terms as an egotistical hype machine so, at times, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Gavin & Stacy can be funny (Ruth Jones?). It is with this in mind that I post this video - from Comic Relief - as it's pretty funny: Cordon giving a team talk to the England football team.

It's funny 'cos it's (mostly very) true. Especially the Lampard bit.
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A Passage From The Garaghon Memoirs

Bigger Not Better

Occasionally I would take stock of my life, closer inspection brought no real insights, there were good days and there were bad days, the sun would rise and the sun would set but in between I strove to see the beauty of the world around me..  Spring was my favourite time of the year because I didn't have to look too hard.  Life took matters into it's own hands and forced itself into the world; buds and blossom, slowly lengthening evenings, the strengthening sun, happiness spilling out onto the pavements like melted butter.  Try as some might, there was no escaping it and I embraced it like a much missed friend.

It was whilst I was gorging on this springtime feast that I began to realize that something was amiss.  The tight vibrant green and white twirls of the lily I was admiring were the first thing I noticed - they were just so big.  And the more I looked the bigger they became.  As I looked around I saw that it wasn't only the lily leaves, it was everything and the harder I looked, the larger it all appeared.  Bees the size of my fist knee high shrubs appeared to me as The Foinavon, delicate blooms magnified to triffid proportions.

A kernel of fear unfurled slowly in the pit of my stomach.  What was happening to me?  I looked down at my hands and they were no longer mine, they were the hands of a giantess, too big to belong in my world.  I recognized them though.  The folds and creases, the long deep head line, the forked heart line dotted with islands, the scar on my right forefinger - a lesson in patience that I'd failed to learn.  These were my hands, seen through my eyes.  I slammed them shut.

And I kept hem that way for a long time - two days - so afraid was I of what I might see when I opened them.  Floating in the darkness I felt serene.  In my mind's eye I could feel the world deflate, as if emitting as enormous sigh, and even though I couldn't see it, I knew that everything had returned to its original size.

I opened my eyes and everything was as it was.  My heart sang with relief.  It had seemed so real, bigger than reality but maybe it had just been my fertile imagination  I held tightly on to this hope.

It soon became clear that it was not my imagination, at the oddest of times and without warning the world would suddenly loom large.  And as time passed large became larger, like the language books my sister and I had loved so much as children, large ballooned to larger but where largest lay I could not conceive.

I began to rest my vision for weeks at a time but still the world continued to grow, the speed and frequency with which these episodes occurred was such that I finally resolved to take action.  Inaction, perhaps, is a more accurate description.  I closed my eyes ans this time they stayed closed.  Even as i felt the world shrink, and although I knew that everything had reverted to its actual size, I clamped my lids closer together.  I knew that I only had a limited number of sights left to see and I didn't want to waste them.

In the interim i replayed all that I had ever seen, concentrating as never before, noticing things that at some point passed me by.  Looking, watching, seeing...

Meanwhile, I pondered over what my final optical delights might be with almost religious fervour.  Waves of darkness lapped against my shores as I agonized over what was worthy enough to devote my fading powers of sight upon.  But my musings were as worthless as the ideas they produced, animals facing extinction, great works of art, what remained of the seven wonders...  These things meant nothing to me.

And though some might say that my actions were rash, impetuous, even foolish, I saw what I cherished the most.  The smile of a friend as we laughed together, her eyes closed in mirth, unaware that I was watching her lose herself in the joy of our shared moment.  Our hands clasped together as we shook with delight, the joke was shared but the moment was all mine.  I saw so much.  The sun setting, gently drifting snow, the iridescent rainbow of petrol in bubbles, the raging ocean, my Mother's tears, a leafy glade bathed in shafts of sunlight, a door slammed in my face, blood pumping on to the tarmac, snatches - like snapshots framed in my heart - of my brother's wedding day, the sunrise, spilt milk, the face of the man I mistook for the love of my life, a storm of cherry blossom raining down on me.  All these things i allowed myself and for each one of them I was eternally grateful.

I could sense that the world was continuing to expand, even behind my tightly locked lids, and I knew that the time had come to close my eyes for good.  But there was one more sight that I wished to see, someone that I had not seen for the longest time.

I dressed with care; my friends described my clothes to me in minute detail, my favourites dictated not by colour or comfort but by how well I thought that they suited me.  And there I was, just the same as i remembered.  And it was so good to see me again, to see that I was still me, that my memories hadn't lied.

So I stood before my reflection, drinking me in until I was in danger of drowning, until I became too big for my eyes to see, the world expanding beyond my comprehension.  And, without regret, I brought my lashes together for the final time.  I needed to see no more.  I held more than enough in my head, and in my mind's eye, it was beautiful to behold.

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