It seems hard to believe now but...

...this time last week I was in the Pyrénées with three mates, enjoying a walking holiday, away from the stresses and other attendant pains of work. In fact, at exactly this time last week we were a couple of hours into climbing up a mountain called Pimené, which we topped out (2,801 metres) at around lunchtime. It was a pretty hard walk in places, on a very hot day (and check out the steep, zig-zagging sections of our route), but entirely worth it. Yes, even the last stretch when the path just sort of stopped and you had to climb, almost on all fours, up a steep ridge lined with razor-sharp rocks and with a sheer fall on either side.

For the latter stages of the ascent, we were joined by a few griffon vultures (gyps fulvus, if that's your thing) who circled above in the forlorn hope that we would perhaps fall off or just lay down and die. Now I can't afford the sort of camera I'd like, but I did manage to capture one of the vultures as it soared over at little more than head height (left) - an awesome sight. It was a pretty amazing feeling topping out Pimené too; I don't think I've been higher on foot.

I'm not going to bore you with untold reams of scenic photography, partly because my camera isn't good enough to justify it but mostly because you can do a Google image search if you're that desperate for shots of Pyrénéan gorgeousness. Nor will I tell you about the place we ended up the next day which, I think, is possibly the most naturally beautiful place I've ever been in my life... because if word gets out, more people will go and it will only get spoiled.

What I will say is that, having been back at work all this week, it's sad that the events of seven short days past feel so long ago and far away. It's a sobering feeling, recognising yourself as a wage slave... but at least there is the consolation that being a wage slave for twelve thirteenths of the year pays for such pleasures as the lads' jaunt to the mountains. Oh, and this weekend's ticket to see Morrissey too.

Quite often, life can be pretty bad. But I try to keep telling myself that, as griffon vultures and Morrissey prove, it isn't always so.

Yesterday was Tau Day

What's that, you say - Tau Day? All is revealed below.

In my younger day I used to be quite handy at maths, and this seems a reasonably compelling argument to me. What do you all think?

Clandestine Classic XV - The Lovecats (cover)

The fifteenth post in an occasional series that is intended to highlight songs that you might not have heard that I think are excellent - clandestine classics, if you will. Maybe they'll be by bands you've never heard of. Maybe they'll be by more familiar artists, but tracks that were squirelled away on b-sides, unpopular albums, radio sessions or music magazine cover-mounted CDs. Time will, undoubtedly, tell.

Today, and for the first time in the Clandestine Classics series, a cover version. I know, it's a risk - covers nearly always generate one of two reactions: either it's not as good as the original ("musical heresy" and all that kind of thing); or, this is okay but so-and-so's cover of this song is much better. To be fair, more often than not these reactions are perfectly warranted but occasionally a cover comes along that really does reinterpret the song, where the band really do make it unmistakably their own. Today's offering is one such cover: from 2009, I give you The Lovecats by The Futureheads.

What, I hear you cry - am I mad? Musical heresy, et cetera. Who would blaspheme over Robert Smith and his merry band's commercial highpoint? Who would dare to mess with the original's double-bass line and jinking piano motif? I mean, come on, The Cure had milk bottles being knocked over and cats miaowing in their definitive version - how are you going to improve on that?

Well, a good question, but the fact is a good cover doesn't necessarily have to improve on the original (though some do). No. Surely it's more important just to try to do something a bit different, reimagine some aspect of the song, make a part of it your own. What's the point in makng a note-for-note facsimile - you might just as well play the original.

Of course The Futureheads have form for creative cover versions - their chart highpoint was a pretty fine cover version of the inestimable Kate Bush's Hounds Of Love. I guess that once they'd covered dogs, they might as well move on to cats... So when the NME were compiling a freebie CD of Cure cover versions in the early months of 2009, to celebrate Smith's band receiving the magazine's "Godlike geniuses" award, this is what The Futureheads came up with. Now to be fair, the whole CD, cover-mounted in February of that year, is pretty good, although quite a lot of the tributes fall foul of doing straight reproductions of the original songs. The Futurehead's cover stands out though, first of all by being excellent but mostly by it becoming a Futureheads song rather than a Cure cover. First of all, they up the tempo - the original strolls along at a leisurely feline pace, whilst this cover barrels along in short explosive blasts, like a cheetah. Then, they dispense with the milk-bottle, cat sound effects and, perhaps most crucially, that deep stand-up bass sound. Finally, they pull off what must be a very difficult masterstroke - they completely change the emphasis and intonation in the vocal. Witness that first line, with its stresses on "tigers" and "closer", as opposed to Robert Smith's "move" and "couldn't". How hard must this be to do, when you have grown up listening to, and are steeped in, the original?

I'll be honest, Lovecats is far from my favourite Cure song - I know a lot of people love it but to me, well, it hardly feels like proper Cure. It just feels as if someone challenged Smith to have a big chart hit, and this is what he came up with. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate it, far from it - I'll still hum along and parts of my body will move when it comes on the radio. But The Futurehead's version, I love. That ba-da-daa-da chant they've used to replace the bassline, it gets in your head. Sorry to be a heretic, but I'm now at the point of preferring this to the original. Perhaps you'll feel the same after a couple of listens. You might find the NME cover-mounted CD on ebay (at the time of writing, I couldn't), though if it's just this song you're after try this. This Clandestine Classic's video delights, as ever, are courtesy of YouTube - for comparative purposes, you can watch Robert Smith and chums do the original here but what I really want you to listen to is The Futurehead's cover version, below. There's nothing much to see, sorry, but just close your eyes and listen. Altogether now, ba-da-daa-da...

The danger of EPG

If, like me, you watch your TV through a set-top box, Sky receiver or relatively new television, you'll no doubt have access to an Electronic Programme Guide, or EPG. You know the thing, it tells you a bit about whatever's on, and what's on next. It's generally quite handy... but every now and then, it bowls a bouncer, and even when there are signs to tell you what's coming it can still take your head off.

Take last night, for example. I came home from wherever it was I'd been and, shamefully looking to the TV for a source of relaxation, starting scrolling through the EPG. This is, more or less verbatim, what caught my eye:

ITV2. Rumor Has It 2100-2245
Offbeat rom-com starring Jennifer Aniston and Kevin Costner.
A bride-to-be seeks the truth abouth whether her parents inspired the classic movie The Graduate.

But this is what I should have read:

A Channel You Never Normally Watch (for a reason). A Film With Dubious American Spelling In The Title 2100-2245
An overplayed genre movie starring an actress who never seems to find the right role and an actor who hasn't made a decent film since, ooh, let's say "JFK".
A bride-to-be...etc.

Because that's what I really think. I never watch ITV2 and, whilst I have no ill feeling towards either, those are my genuine feelings about those two actors. But the EPG got me anyway, because of The Graduate. It's one of my favourite films of any genre, one that I've seen more times than is healthy. And yes, I'm familiar with the rumour that the tale of Benjamin, Elaine and Mrs Robinson was based on a true story. So, despite all the red flags that should have been waving, I was lured in by the EPG by what, to me, was an intriguing premise. To be fair, Rumor Has It started well enough, with some party scenes even seeming to pay a little homage to the party Ben's parents throw for him at the start of The Graduate. But from then on, it was all downhill. I kept watching, in the vain hope that there would be more Graduate references thrown in, but as soon as Kev appeared, I might just as well have turned off and had an early night.

So what I really want to know is... how do I get those 105 minutes of my life back?

The Out-Of-Print Book Review I - "Black Evening" by David Morrell

Or, the first in what's likely to be an exceptionally occasional series that is intended to highlight out-of-print books that I've only just got around to reading...

I just recently finished reading Black Evening by David Morrell. It's a collection of, well, if not horror stories per sé then certainly unsettling stories. No, that's not the genre by which Morrell pays the bills - he's a thriller writer, most famous for writing First Blood. You get the impression from reading some of the author's notes in Black Evening that he isn't wildly keen on what Hollywood and Stallone did to his story but let's not digress. I'm here to talk about Black Evening.

I'll confess I hadn't even heard of David Morrell until a friend of mine, Mark, mentioned one of the stories from Black Evening in a blog post. That story was the excellent "Orange Is For Anguish, Blue Is For Insanity". Mark described that story very neatly, so I hope he won't mind me reproducing his précis - an art historian sees a whole swarm of hideous faces hiding in the paintings of the tortured artist - rather than spewing my own inferior version.

"Orange Is For Anguish..." is an excellent short story, and is among the stand-out efforts in Black Evening. That's saying something too, for although this collection presents its stories in chronological order, so that you can watch Morrell hone his writing technique (as well as seeing the effect events in his personal life had on his storytelling), the standard here is uniformly high. For that reason alone, I don't want to pick out or describe too many of the stories therein... but I do want to give two a special mention.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I am an aspiring writer, and that most of the efforts with which I've had some meagre success are short stories of the sort that Morrell includes in Black Evening. No, I am not trying to compare myself to this multi-million selling master of the craft. I'm just trying to illustrate that I try to write what I like to read. And, after reading "The Storm" in Black Evening, I had a genuine I wish I'd written that moment. The story is simple: whilst on holiday, our protagonist comments to his son that a native American's rain dance is hokey and just for show, for the cynical benefit of tourists. Cue a curse on our narrator, who is then followed wherever he goes by a torrential storm. Of course he manages to get the curse lifted, but there's a twist in the tale. Isn't there always? Anyway... okay, yes, the premise reminds me a bit of Thinner by Richard Bachman (I'd have to do some research to find out which was written first) but c'mon, there's nothing new under the sun, after all. And that shouldn't detract from the fact that this story is beautifully, sparsely written, utterly absorbing and, despite the otherworldy content, made entirely plausible.

And then there's "Mumbo Jumbo", a tale of a US high school sports team mascot and the effect it has on the players. Now I didn't go to a US high school and the idea of American football is anathema to me... but that doesn't matter. Morrell weaves a tale that drags you in, takes you back to whatever your school days were and lets you reinhabit the mind of the person you were then. It's a beautifully told tale (with a little twist in the tale, naturally) and, like many of the stories in Black Evening, would make a fine story for The Twilight Zone. Or, if you're English, like me, an excellent Tale Of The Unexpected.

So, Black Evening... it's out of print, of course, but thanks to Amazon, I have an ex-library hardback in pretty good condition that only cost 1p (plus postage and packing), so there's a bargain to be had here. I recommend it to you unreservedly - if you're the sort of person who enjoys Stephen King's short stories (or just well-told short stories in general, as long as you're not averse to being creeped out now and again) then this is a book for you. Go, seek it out.

Clandestine Classic XIV - What Took You So Long?

The fourteenth post in an occasional series that is intended to highlight songs that you might not have heard that I think are excellent - clandestine classics, if you will. Maybe they'll be by bands you've never heard of. Maybe they'll be by more familiar artists, but tracks that were squirelled away on b-sides, unpopular albums, radio sessions or music magazine cover-mounted CDs. Time will, undoubtedly, tell.

I started writing this post again thinking that I'd show you I was down with the kids, showcasing a contemporary song by a contemporary artist. Then I realised the song is three years old already. At least the band in question are still going strong(ish). Whilst I can't claim that today's offering is by one of Manchester's finest (Manchester has produced a lot of amazing bands, after all), they are at least well clear of the metophorical relegation zone... today's clandestine classic is What Took You So Long?, a single from the summer of 2008 by The Courteeners.

In the initial hype-storm that surrounded their first album, the band attracted a lot of attention for being from Manchester and having a frontman by the name of Liam. This led to inevitable lazy (and inaccurate) Oasis comparisons. However, these were fortunately dismissed relatively quickly, and The Courteeners could be judged on their own merits. I bought their first album, St Jude, on the strength of a good review in a weekend broadsheet and an endorsement from Morrissey, no less. It's pretty good actually, with lots of quietly infectious, guitar-led chunks of indie rock. They have tunes! That said, the album was starting to fall out of my regular rotation by the time the band were due to play my adopted home-town. I bought a ticket anyway but must have been the only person to do so who wasn't subsequently notified when the gig was cancelled - I arrived at the venue to find a closed door with a piece of hastily-scrawled A4 sellotaped to it. Oh well. A year later, whilst on a business trip to Edinburgh, I saw that The Courteeners were playing The Picture House. I trooped along, hoping to pick up a ticket on the door, but they were all sold out. Gutted.

But not to worry. Although I kept missing them live, and had shelved the album, one song from St Jude was imprinted firmly in my brain. Why? For the unlikely reason that the DCSF (Department for Children, Schools and Families) were running their 'Science and Maths' campaign, aimed at showcasing the interesting and exciting jobs those subjects could lead the youth of today to. They had a quite neat advert that was played to death at my local multiplex, and that advert was soundtracked by the distinctive intro and guitar line of What Took You So Long. You can see why - it's the da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA guitar line that hooks you in, completely and utterly. But there is more to the song than this - not only does it build in a way that compels your body to jump about, it's lyrically very snappy and is, quite possibly, the only song in the Western world to namecheck both Morrissey and Stagecoach buses. Not to be sniffed at. If this song was a film, it could be genre-pigeonholed as social realism or, more likely, kitchen sink drama. Witness those lyrics - "What took you so long? Was there a queue at the post office?" So yes, decidedly English too. These, in case you were wondering, are all good characteristics. Oh, and it's got a catchy, singalong chorus too.

As a single, I think today's classic peaked at number 20 and, as I've already said, you can also find it on the band's debut album. Alternatively, the unscrupulous among you might find something of interest here but you didn't hear that from me, okay? If you want to read more about The Courteeners you can do so at their Wikipedia page and, as ever, there's YouTube, where you can watch the DCSF ad or, like I did, find the original promo and tout it around (below). Enjoy.

So what's the score with all those lazy blog posts?

You might have noticed that during March and April nearly everything I blogged was a "lazy blog post" You might have wondered why. Well, I wasn't just being lazy - there was a reason. Let me explain.

I read a fair few blogs. Don't get me wrong, I don't fritter away my days constantly refreshing feeds in my RSS reader of choice, no no. But I do subscribe to a number of feeds and check them regularly. Now some of these blogs are very good - come on, why would I be reading them otherwise? But sometimes, almost inevitably, you come across a blog that is not so hot. And the more blogs I read, the more patterns I see, and the more I realise that there are certain blog tropes that strike me as, first and foremost, just plain lazy and, secondly, seem destined to turn me off from reading the blog in the future. So I tried to highlight a few of these lazy blog post types over the last two months, specifically:

• The "humourous" photo - the vast majority of hilarious photos on the Internet are, it seems to me, not actually that funny, and those that might be are typically more of the "a ha ha" type than rib-shattering. The blogger might as well just write I'VE TAKEN A PHOTO OF A CAT DOING SOMETHING SILLY AND MY MUM LIKES IT!
• The embedded video without context - we've all done it: embed some YouTube content when we're short of blogging ideas. But come on people, at least add some context, some opinion, maybe some original ideas to the post too. It's just a thought but why else should I be reading your post? I mean, if I just want to watch videos I'll go straight to the source, thanks.
• The redirecting link - now I don't have a problem with blog posts that exist purely to draw attention to something else - another website, a Twitter feed of note, a please-sponsor-me page. But COME ON - tell me why it's worth clicking! Express your thoughts on the website/Twitter feed/please-sponsor-me page. And do so in a way that makes me want to read to the end of the sentence. Don't just say it's really good. Tell me why it's good, what makes it worth clicking the link.
• Whimsy - well-written whimsy can be okay sometimes, imbuing a kind of collective, misty-eyed nostalgia. That's alright. I don't mind a bit of that now and again, and I suspect you don't either. But the sort of whimsy that trades exclusively in "things aren't what they used to be and I feel so old" probably isn't that well-written. I don't want to sound like a snob or anything, I'm just saying, that's all.
• The old chestnut - most often typified by the embedded video without context. If your blog consists of nothing but old TV and film clips that I have seen a dozen or more times before, I'm going to get tired, however KWALITY or KRAZY those clips might be. And I won't be alone.
• Bandwagoneering - the number one crime in the interminable chart of lazy blog post crimes is Zeitgeist-chasing, or simply blogging about something because it's in the news and you want to get a few extra hits. Have you got something new, original or insightful to say about the Royal Wedding? No? Then leave the subject well alone. Something incisive, searing or inventive to say about the Obama/Osama grudge match? No? Then why are you regurgitating banalities about it and calling it a blog post?

Don't get me wrong, I may sound a bit preachy but I'm not so wholesome - this is my 256th blog post here, and I've fallen into all the traps mentioned above at times. We all have, I'm sure - no-one's perfect, and sometimes we simply don't have time to craft the perfect post, especially those of us who do this as a hobby rather than as a form of employment. But I try to keep the lazy blog posts to a minimum. The blogs I read regularly do too.

I'll stop sounding like a crazy ranting fool now.

Lazy blog post no. 1 - bandwagoneering

Luke Wright is a rather fine poet. He's written a fairly atypical poem loosely about the Royal Wedding but less loosely about class, wealth and poverty. On the eve of Waity-Katie's nuptials to Bill Wales, let me jump on the bandwagon and reproduce Luke's poem for you here. I hope he won't mind, especially if I link back to his website and the original post with the poem in it.

The Squeezed Middletons

Oh no, cried Papa Middleton on opening his Times,
the Pound has shed its value and we’re set for steeper climes.
They’re going to freeze my salary, inflation’s just increased
we’ll have to sell the horses, well a few of them at least.

Oh blow, chimed Mother Middleton, oh what a darned palaver
I’ll cut down on the champers, but I shan’t resort to cava!
What’s this?! Young Monty Middleton let loose a stroppy roar,
no quail’s eggs for breakfast? Why Mother, are we poor?

My Darling, cried his anxious Ma, some how we’ll muddle through
but if Pa sells the chopper, well, I’m not sure what we’ll do.
But then solution came to Pa, a thought so stray and wild:
Now mother am I right to think we have another child?

Why yes, my dear your daughter Kate, we made her in the eighties
the year you did that deal with those dubious Kuwaitis.
Of course, the red-cheeked fellow barked, the answer dear’s a cinch
we’ll peddle Monty’s sister to a emerald-laden prince!

So Kate was fetched and telegrams sent forth into the world
and soon a queue of inbred boys arrived to see the girl.
A deal was struck and cards were swiped, a son-in-law was gained
and after that the Middletons were never squeezed again.

Lazy blog post no. 8 - the old chestnut

Included here for no other reason than this - many years ago, my brother and I used to recreate this sketch for the amusement of our parents, often in the car on long journeys. Feels like a long time ago now. I miss those simpler times.

Lazy blog post no. 9 - whimsy

A week or so ago, the cook in my works canteen had the day off, so I had occasion to walk to a cornershop in the village to buy something for lunch. Since it is only a cornershop, I settled for a sandwich and a packet of crisps - Frazzles, to be precise.

Now I haven't had proper Frazzles for a good long time, probably nearly twenty years (supermarket own-brand imitations do not count). After wolfing them down in a riot of MSG and a Mexican-wave of nostalgia, I glanced at the back of the packet. And read the following:

Did you know your favourite Frazzles have been around since 1975 and these crispy, crunchy bacon flavour bites are as delicious now as they have always been!

1975?! That's not old! That isn't long enough ago to be dressed up as heritage! I mean, 1975, that was the year I started primary school... so if Frazzles are officially old then I must be...

As if that wasn't bad enough, Smith's Crisps, the purveyors of this salted snack antique, are now nothing more than a division of Walker's. Wasn't like that when I were a lad, etc...