Heroes and villains

For the second time in a week I am writing about London. The bombs that brought havoc to the capital last Thursday have claimed, at the time of writing, 38 lives. 700 more were injured, some seriously. The lives of all those affected will never be the same again.

Whilst watching the news last night, a friend kept voicing her disbelief. How could they (the presumed terrorist perpetrators) do this? Why do they feel entitled to strike at innocent civilians? What do they hope to achieve? She couldn't understand why, in her own head, she couldn't rationalise the bombers' actions. But, as I pointed out, you cannot rationalise the irrational, explain the inexplicable or justify the unjustifiable. The presumed terrorist culprits must have such a distorted world view - only in their own deluded minds is such action justified.

In my younger days, I naïvely believed that there was some good in everyone. Sadly, the last fifteen years has scoured that optimism out of me. I'm pretty sure nobody reads this 'blog, which gives me the confidence to assert that there are people out there in the world today who are scum, plain and simple. People who blithely presume they have the right to make other's lives miserable, without recognising that they have moral and social responsibilities too. When, exactly, did human rights start to outweigh human responsibilities? This is why so many town centres are no-go areas on a drunken Friday night. This is why so many children today believe they can do exactly what they want, whilst their parents (incredibly) blame their schools for not raising them properly. This is why violence is a way of life on our streets, and people like you and me are too scared to intervene when it flares up for fear of an assailant pulling a knife (or worse). And this is why a crazed, brain-washed fundamentalist has no qualms about getting on a train and blowing up scores of innocent commuters.

But I'm sick of writing about the villains. I want, instead, to heap praise on the emergency services. Police, Fire, Ambulance... like our armed forces, they give a feeling that, despite being under-resourced, they are the best in the world. The professionalism they showed in dealing with terrible situations, in a manner that conveyed calm to the public, was immense. Hospitals staggered under the load they were suddenly asked to bear, but bear it they did. And what of the famed British stiff upper lip? Much has been made of how Hitler couldn't bring London down, despite a continuous aerial bombardment during the Second World War, and that Osama Bin Laden and his buddies wouldn't succeed either. Times move on, cultures change and people change; the time of the stiff upper lip has probably passed. However, there was a tangible atmosphere of "let's just get on with it" last week, as people walked miles home from central London, or jumped on a bus as they began to come back into service, or made plans for getting to work today. Doctors and nurses, firemen, commuters... there were lots of heroes on the streets of London last Thursday. As long as they continue to outnumber the villains, there is hope for us all.

Higher, faster, stronger

So London has won the right to stage the 2012 Olympics. This is stupendous news, and I am already looking forward to getting (or trying to get) tickets for anything and everything.

Of course, if you're a regular reader of this 'blog, you'll know I have a tendency to be a bit pessimistic sometimes. So as not to disappoint then, what worries me about the Olympic bid? Well, this is the country that built the London Eye (well worth a trip) but couldn't have it ready to take passengers by the somewhat immoveable due date of 31st December 1999. We're the country whose plans for a new national stadium at Wembley are stuttering forward, fantastically over budget. We're the country who built the Millennium Bridge over the Thames, then had to close it again because it wobbled. We're the country that designed and built a fancy Diana Memorial Fountain, then had to close, redesign and finally restrict its use because no-one foresaw that water running over smooth concrete might be a tiny bit slippery...

So do you see what I'm getting at? It was all very well last year pouring scorn on the Greeks as they desperately tried to get everything ready in time for the Athens Olympics. It may well be a very different story in seven years time when the microscopic scrutiny of the world is upon us instead. Maybe I'm conveniently forgetting a whole host of national project management successes, but it just seems to me that we don't have a very good track record of delivering big projects on time, to budget and completely to specification.

Still, you have to admire the way Seb Coe and his team have turned the London bid around. When he first got involved, we were third or even fourth favourite to land the Games, yet look how things turned out. Maybe there is hope then, that just this once we Brits we be able to organise the proverbial excessive-consumption-of-alcohol in a brewery. If I'm still 'blogging in seven years, I'll let you know.

And finally, let's hope that the London 2012 team have a detailed post-Olympics plan in place too. Many of the Athens facilities have not been used at all since the closing ceremony there, which is especially depressing since the Greeks are saddled with huge debts from staging the Games in the first place. Maybe we should take a look at Sydney to see how this should be done: what was the Olympic village in 2000 is now a residential suburb rather than the husk that the Athens site threatens to become. Fingers crossed for Stratford in London's East End then - it could certainly use the regeneration. You can't help but feel that if the Olympic Commission parked their chariot of fire there at the moment, when they returned to it they'd find a couple of the wheels missing.

Live8, G8, desper8...

Last weekend, the great and the good rallied around to raise awareness of third world poverty by staging a series of rock concerts around the world. The BBC kindly broadcast the day's proceedings to an eager viewing public. Certainly it was an amazing spectacle: Paul McCartney, U2, Dido, REM, Keane, Travis, Razorlight, Robbie Williams and The Who were all excellent entertainment. Pink Floyd made men of a certain age get moist-eyed just by all turning up together. Other acts, including the much-lauded Coldplay, were below par in my book. Ms Dynamite spoiled the token appearance bestowed on her by squealing between two otherwise decent songs. Snoop Dogg's "mother-loving" exhortations provoked much hilarity with yours truly, and apparently many (300+) complaints to the Beeb. And everyone proclaimed their adoration for Sir Bob Geldof, some to the extent that you wondered whether they wanted to have his children. So everything's okay then, right?

Well I'm not so sure, to be honest. There's certainly no doubting Geldof's good intentions, and those of us who have supported the cause will at least be able to look back in years to come and say they tried to make a difference. I just wish I felt more confident that we can make that difference. Africa's problems stem far beyond simple poverty: corruption in government is rife in many countries; the healthcare burden of AIDS and HIV is tremendous; the infrastructure and supporting industry necessary to support the proposed increased in fair trade is patchy; civil unrest within and between territories is common. Then there's the question of whether the West has the right to impose its view of trade, healthcare, infrastructure and all the rest on such a different culture... or rather, such a huge collection of different cultures.

There's also an issue on which I feel sure I must be over-simplifying. The figure of 30,000 people dying needlessly every day makes my head spin. Clearly this is appalling. But let's just suppose, for one second, that G8 acquiesce to all of the Live8 campaign's demands, and that those 30,000 people don't die every day. In a week, 210,000 will have been saved. In five weeks, over a million will not have perished. In a year, that figure ramps up to over 10 million. This is clearly a good thing; no-one should die for simple lack of the money or means to support themselves. What worries me is that these impoverished areas don't have the means or infrastructure to support their current populations; how are they going to support 10 million more? And 10 million more the year after that? Are we just pushing back today's problems to a time in a few years when the basic survival needs of a larger population can no longer be met, in the same way that those basic needs cannot be met for today's poor? I don't know, maybe I am over-simplifying.

Finally, why isn't the G8 the G9? China is booming in every way: population, trade, industry... and carbon emissions. Okay, so the derisory figure of George W. Bush has attracted much criticism (though not enough from within his own country) for taking the US out of the Kyoto Agreement on climate change, especially since the States contributes a staggering 22% of the world's carbon emissions. By contrast, the whole of Europe contributes 12%, so we're clearly right to deride Bush for such lunacy. But China contributes 13%, a figure that looks certain to rise given the need for the immense Chinese population to play catch-up, racing through the same industrial and cultural follies that the West stumbled through in the latter half of the 20th Century. So why isn't China taking a seat at the G8 table and discussing these weighty issues? Why aren't there nine men in a room?

But I digress. Live8 is a noble cause and we have to try to make poverty history, even if you're as sceptical about our chances of success as me. I urge you to register your support for Sir Bob and his merry men at Live8live.com now.

And if you're as concerned as I am that ours is the generation that will be remembered for polluting our planet irretrievably, please take a look at the CRed carbon reduction campaign.

The Men Who...

Last Thursday, I had the good fortune to see a Travis gig. It was a wonderfully low-key affair; they had been drafted in to play the Isle of Wight festival as a last-minute replacement for Morrissey. Having not played live for a while, they needed to play a warm-up gig. So it was that they came to be playing to a crowd of maybe 1500 in a provincial university. And what a gig it was.

Most of the crowd had come hoping for a "greatest hits" set, and weren't disappointed, with nearly all the band's singles getting an airing, including "Sing", "Side", "Turn", "Driftwood", "Re-offender", "U16 Girls" and more besides. We were also treated to the first public performance anywhere of a new song, "Closer", and, during the encore, a cover of Morrissey's "Everyday Is Like Sunday". For me, and probably many others, the highlight of the evening was Fran's solo acoustic rendition of "Flowers In The Window". With the PA and monitors turned off, it was just a completely unamplified Fran and his guitar... plus the crowd for the choruses, of course.

As you can tell, I was very impressed with the whole show. Fran was very chatty with the audience, there was no merchandising or heavy-handed security, and the encore concluded with a rousing, sing-along rendition of "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" to send the crowd home happy. This gig is a new entry in my "top five gigs I have ever been to" list, so I am more than happy to sell Travis to you... you can find lots of good stuff from them on Amazon right here.

The BBC: is this the beginning of the end?

Yesterday, hundreds of BBC staff went on strike over proposed cut-backs and inevitable redundancies. Even high profile figures like the lovely Natasha Kaplinsky made the effort (although not going to work doesn't technically constitute a great deal of effort). I doubt that Ms Kaplinsky was outside Broadcasting House with a placard in her hand, but I digress.

The thing is, if the great and good at the BBC are worried enough to down tools, so to speak, then things must be bad. When was the last time you can recall the Beeb's scheduling being disrupted by industrial action? No, I can't remember either.

The BBC (or British Broadcasting Corporation, to give it its full moniker) is, for my money, the greatest broadcasting agency in the world. Okay, I obviously seen every alternative globally, but I've been to enough countries and watched enough TV to know that the Beeb is pretty special, and should be treasured. Okay, so we have to cough up an annual license fee but compare the outlay of this to the spiralling monthly costs of a Sky TV subscription. Then consider all the new digital channels the BBC has launched (TV and radio) to supplement its existing output. Add to this the fact that, "due to the unique way the BBC is funded", you can actually watch a film on the BBC without being interrupted by adverts (bliss). And as if that wasn't enough, the BBC also provides, in my view, the greatest one-stop website you'll find anywhere - the volume and breadth of content is phenomenal.

So yes, I am obviously a fan of the BBC. As such, I am somewhat concerned about any plans to "streamline", "rationalise" or "modernise" the Corporation, and you should be too. Such buzzwords are often euphemisms for "muck up" or, worse still, "irreversably damage". So don't moan if your usual newsreader is off-screen for one day: support and understand their industrial action. Cherish the BBC: watch its programmes (easy, given the celebrity-obsessed dross on ITV), try out the new channels, explore the website. There's nothing else like it anywhere in the world, and you'll miss it when it's gone...

What's going on?

Okay, so I haven't written much lately. I guess I am in danger of going the way of so many other 'blogs... the novelty wears off, writing becomes onerous, the journal dies a death. But I've been busy, that's all. Laptop time has been at a premium. Still, I've managed to find a few minutes to write about the events of the last few weeks, and it seems the theme is... what the hell is going on?

• Tony Blair is widely held to have lied to the "Great" British public so that he could take the country to war, acting as George Bush's lick-spittle in a conflict that was as much to do with oil as it was WMD and regime change. Still he is comfortably re-elected as Prime Minister with a bigger majority than I recall John Major ever enjoying...
• Abigail Witchalls gets a knife stuck through her neck in an apparently motiveless attack whilst taking her toddler son for a walk in a sleepy Surrey village...
• Television schedules are filled with inane dross like "Celebrity Wrestling" (notable for its lack of actual, Big Daddy-style wrestling) and "Celebrity Love Island"...
• Some guy that no-one's ever heard of turns up at The Crucible Theatre and walks away with the World Championship trophy. If it's that easy, I think I'll have a go next year...
• Top pop poppet Kylie Minogue, someone that all men of a certain age (like me) feel that they've grown up with, is diagnosed with breast cancer just a few weeks short of her 37th birthday...
• Arsenal and Manchester United, two of the biggest clubs in world football, can't manage a goal between them in 120 minutes of normal play in the final of the world's biggest knockout competition, the F.A. Cup...

Honestly, it's enough to make you question your own world-view. Life is becoming unpredictable in a way that I'm not sure I like. In fact, it's not so much "what's going on" as "whatever next?"

It's reassuring, then, to realise that some things are less random. After weeks of the media stoking up expectation, the UK entry went into last night's Eurovision Song Contest with the nation convinced she was going to win. Never mind the fact that the song didn't actually go anywhere and was so unconventionally structured. Our Euro-playmates are certainly not ready for such, ahem, sophistication. Needless to say, we trailed in third from last and, if not for Ireland giving us eight points, we would undoubtedly have collected the wooden spoon. Some things never change... thank goodness.

Adapt and survive

I recently bit the bullet and finally bought a digital camera. This doesn't mean I have abandoned my trusty old SLR - that will come out of retirement any time I need to take 'proper' photographs. The digital camera is great though, but I do have a gripe (didn't you just know I would). The camera has a mains adaptor for charging the battery, naturally... just like my mobile phone... and my PDA... and so on. All these items of digital jewellery have mains adaptors, yet none of these adaptors are interchangeable. Even when the kit is of the same brand, as my camera and phone are! The upshot of this is that I end up with a spaghetti tangle of cables competing for space around my power outlets, cluttering my desk and taking up valuable space around the house. Surely it is not beyond the wit of man to develop a standard for mains adaptors that manufacturers could all adopt. Look at TV aerial cables, hi-fi interconnects and even conventional power outlets. All of these are standardised, so why can't mains adaptors for today's digital goodies conform to a single standard too?

Call me an old cynic if you will, but I suspect the reason is that there is a healthy market in accessory sales and bespoke, brand-specific products. If these adapters were interchangeable, our beloved electronics corporate giants would never sell another one... and the mark-up on accessories like these is staggering. As ever, it's all about the £/$/¥...

Right, I'm off to see if I can untangle enough wires to charge up my camcorder...

I take it all back...

Last month I wrote at some length regarding my concerns for the new version of Doctor Who. Well, two episodes in I find myself in the happy position of wanting to take it all back. Much has been written about the general excellence of Christopher Ecclestone; still more has been said about the exuberant brilliance of Billie Piper. Now Ecclestone is always good value and Piper, despite being somewhat lantern-jawed and over-doing the Estuary English, is very watchable. But for me, the real hero of this comeback is Russell T. Davies.

Davies's scripts sizzle with energy, pace and wit. The tempo is high - whole stories are comfortably resolved in 45 minutes - and the dialogue (mercifully not simplified for the kid-laden target audience) is crammed with loads of subtle jokes aimed squarely at adult viewers. So thank you Russell; I was very worried about my childhood TV memories being slaughtered - instead, I find myself making pleasurable new, adult ones instead.

Now here's hoping the imminent big-screen version of "Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy" is half decent too...

The Premiership 2004/5 - substance over style

I'm a football fan - that's soccer for any North American readers. I'm not obsessive about it - I don't plan my year around the fixtures list, for example, and I don't own a replica shirt (though I do have two club t-shirts). I've been to quite a few games this season though, and have been lucky enough to watch current champions Arsenal and champions-elect Chelsea. Both were impressive and both ran out comfortable winners against my team. This year's title race is effectively over already, with Chelsea so far ahead it's not true. The only way they're not going to win is if the entire squad is struck down with bird flu. This is all very nice for the success-starved Chelsea fans, who've had to wait a very long time to win the league, and arguably it's good news for the media and the FA, since the Blues have succeeded in breaking the two-horse race dominance of Arsenal and Manchester United. But it is good for football?

Don't get me wrong, I'm an admirer of Jose Mourinho, he seems to be a class act, and I suspect the recent histrionics he's been displaying are calculated to deflect attention from his squad as they pursue the Premiership and Champions League. And, undoubtedly, his teams get results. But is it good for the spectator? As I've said, I've seen Arsenal and Chelsea this season. Arsenal played incisively with skill, pace and creative flair. Chelsea played incisively with skill and pace. Sure, Chelsea still pulled the opposition apart. But with Arsenal, even the opposition fans applauded some of their play, it was so good. Yes, Chelsea did everything they needed to do to win comprehensively. So did Arsenal, but they were far more entertaining. At the time of writing, Arsenal are 13 points behind Chelsea.

So is this indicative of a trend towards substance over style in English football? Bolton Wanderers, an unfashionable team with comparably limited means, are challenging for a spot in next season's UEFA Cup. How have they got to this lofty position? By "winning ugly" - lots of players behind the ball, long punts upfield, classic route one football. And at the other end of the table, the converse is true. As I write, the three teams in the relegation positions are the same three teams that were promoted last season: Norwich City, West Bromwich Albion and Crystal Palace. Palace play attack-minded, committed football, and have a genuinely exciting player in Andy Johnson. I can't say too much about West Brom, having not seen them much this year but if their 4-1 win at the weekend is anything to go by they must be doing (or trying to do) something right. As for Norwich City, much has been said and written about them, both by opposing managers and the media - the prevailing theme seems to be that they are a team that tries to play attractive, passing football, whilst maintaining a friendly, well-organised club. Norwich are rock-bottom in the league, seven points from safety and with only three wins to their name thus far this season. For a club that won last year's old Division 1 title with such ease, this is disappointing. Much has been written about the gulf between the Premiership and the Championship, and the relegation status of last year's promoted teams would seem to support this. But to me, it also seems that teams with substance will triumph over teams with style. I hope, for the sake of the game, that Norwich somehow escape relegation and continue to ply their entertaining trade in the top flight. But I fear the odds are against them, as panache is forced out of the modern game with the advent of a "win at all costs" mentality. If substance really has triumphed over style, then the beautiful game will get a little less beautiful every year.

If you're a Timelord, you can make a comeback whenever you want

I find myself with mixed feelings regarding the imminent comeback of Doctor Who. Sure, Christopher Ecclestone is an excellent actor (Our Friends In The North being one of the greatest pieces of television I have ever seen) and Billie Piper also shows great promise (see the recent updating of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales). Crucially, bubbly blonde Billie gives the new show the same Dad-appeal the old series had when Louise Jameson paraded around in not too many clothes during the Tom Baker era's post-Grandstand Saturday afternoon slot. Add in the blue police box, scripts by the acclaimed Russell T. Davies and a comeback for the Daleks too (although I always preferred the Cybermen) and everything seems to be in place.

So what am I worried about? Well, I'm not convinced that today's kids are going to buy into Dr Who in the same way that my generation did. Despite the best efforts of the BBC, I feel fairly confident that most kids will be able to find better visual effects in their PlayStation2 and XBox games. As for being scared by hordes of freakish aliens, will 21st Century teens hide behind the sofa at the sight of an actor in a knobbly rubber suit? I hope so, but I doubt it; I doubt even primary school kids will be peeping through their fingers. Why? Today's kids are so much more shockproof than we were and is it any wonder, given their televisual diet? So the fear-factor is out.

So too is the oddball appeal, I fear. Jon Pertwee had frilly shirts, a velvet blazer and a classic car called Betsy. Tom Baker had a floppy hat, Jelly Babies and the world's longest scarf. Peter Davison always looked like he had either just come from the cricket pitch or was just going boating, plus he had question marks on his shirt collar. Ecclestone's Doctor wears a leather jacket... so let's hope he has some, as yet undiscovered, curiosity value, something cool or bizarre, or preferably both. At long as he doesn't have visible tattoos...

I guess my biggest problem though is that this feels like tinkering with my childhood. Dr Who was finished, allowing us all to grow up and look back at it with a kind of lazy nostalgia, mistily reminiscing about Sonic Screwdrivers, Gallifrey and K-9, before debating who was the "best" Doctor (Davison by a nose, for me). But now it's back, thus forcing us to re-evaluate what has gone before, maybe even face up to the fact that a lot of it hasn't aged very well. Although the Dalek's might have looked cool, it's time to admit they were rubbish. A sink plunger is not a scary weapon. Being outwitted by stairs is not cool.

So that's it really, another childhood memory brought into sharp focus, another sorry realisation. So will I be watching when the new series starts in a couple of weeks? Of course I will! And not just because of the aforementioned Dad-appeal either! But I'll be doing so with a wry grin, as I inevitably recall the somewhat puzzling schoolboy crush I had on Tegan, the Doctor's Australian air stewardess assistant... sigh...