Showing posts with label Fani. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fani. Show all posts
TV Terry Wogan sounded particularly disillusioned at the close of tonight's Eurovision Song Contest and who outside of the Easten Bloc could blame him? For a while I thought the Greek Britney (as my mate Fani described her via text) was in with a chance. But the Russians crept in largely by stealth, receiving votes of some sort from almost everyone with the few douzes tossed in by neighbours. It was a rubbish, dated song sang with a kind of flat charisma and certainly inferior to at least fifteen of the others. Andy Abrahams wasn't *that bad* actually in the end and certainly didn't deserve the ignominy of being bottom of the table because of an alphabet malfunction.
Liverpool Splendor
Life My old friend Fani is back in the country and is visiting Liverpool. Long term readers will remember how devastating it was when she left and yet there she waved looking almost completely the same, standing in the doorway of Lewis's. We both agreed we'd each put on a bit of weight. She talked about my hair being slightly longer -- I was simply wigged out that she was there. We each pinched each other to make sure.
It's funny how even after a couple of years people can fall back into patterns. I think I've changed but being around her I've realised that actually parts of me haven't changed a bit. Somehow I still managed to make a whole Costa Coffee shop turn and look when I shouted her name across to our table seats in the window to ask if she wanted a muffin (her name is pronounced to rhyme with nanny). I'm still better at giving advice when asked rather than following my own common sense.
And now she's going again, back down south. I've only seen her for a few hours (she is staying with other friends) but everything I said in those two linked posts above still stands. It really doesn't help that I think I'm on the tail end of a cold so not exactly in the altogether -- also the reason I didn't attend the Manchester Blog Awards. After watching American Splendor tonight I'm beginning to hope that this isn't just a state of mind.
It's funny how even after a couple of years people can fall back into patterns. I think I've changed but being around her I've realised that actually parts of me haven't changed a bit. Somehow I still managed to make a whole Costa Coffee shop turn and look when I shouted her name across to our table seats in the window to ask if she wanted a muffin (her name is pronounced to rhyme with nanny). I'm still better at giving advice when asked rather than following my own common sense.
And now she's going again, back down south. I've only seen her for a few hours (she is staying with other friends) but everything I said in those two linked posts above still stands. It really doesn't help that I think I'm on the tail end of a cold so not exactly in the altogether -- also the reason I didn't attend the Manchester Blog Awards. After watching American Splendor tonight I'm beginning to hope that this isn't just a state of mind.
Fair's fair
Books In the afternoon I went to the book fair at St. Anne's Square in Manchester City Centre. Around twenty stalls from small publishers. Given that I literally have about a hundred books still to read I hadn't intended to buy anything, but then I noticed a small hardback book describing the history of theatre in Buxton, which because it is such a specific topic will probably be fascinating. I also bumped into one of Fani's old university friends and somehow managed to end up chatting to him about my dissertation. Of course he mentioned a film I hadn't thought of that would have proved one of my contentions after its finished and waiting to be bound. Of course he did. As I was passing into the cinema to see Betty Page afterwards I noticed a poster on the wall for new Australian film Look Both Ways which has a magazine quote that says something like 'Magnolia mixed with Crash and Six Feet Under'. So it's a hyperlink film then? Good job I mentioned it in my appendix...
Wordless.
Life In June, I sent an application to Manchester University for their MA Screen Studies course. It's multi-discipline covering film, television and digital media. Taught in places, but flexible enough for you to research any areas which interest you. I thought I'd left it too late; what with work and sorting out referees and finding my degree certificates from way back when. But I hoped that all the of the night school courses I've been following over the years would show that I've never wanted to stop studying.
Then today I get home and find the large white A4 envelope I've been waiting for. It seems very thin, and my heart skips a beat because I know that means rejection. After a single letter, and the no word, what is there left to say? But as I pull the envelope open I realise there are four sheets of paper, some coloured. I look at the top sheet and read quickly. My Mum, who was sitting on a chair nearby seems more nervous than me. There were lots of words but the gist is ...
I'm going back to University.
I swear loudly and cheer. Mum cheers too. And immediately reaches for the phone and starts calling everyone. I sit and read through the letter properly. Enrollment starts on 18th September. I finish work 22nd August, so I'll have some holiday time inbetween. Good. There is another sheet with important addresses and contacts -- and so to the colours. A reddy-pink sheet for turning it down (I put this to one side) and a pastel green for acceptance.
I ring Chris who's amazed. I ring Fani in Greece and we laugh at how we're both going to be students again (she's got to take all kinds of exams so that her UK degrees are valid over there).
Now I'm telling everyone else. This is something I really haven't mentioned on the weblog for fear that it'd be jinxed. I only let a few few people into the secret that I was applying for that same reason. It's what I've been working towards for about five years, as I slowly gathered the funding together so that I could study fulltime.
But it's months, years even since I've felt this happy. This contented. This is one of the things I've always dreamed of doing and suddenly it's out there in front of me. It's not quite sunk in. I'll be watching a film now it's part of my studies. Writing about television as part of a qualification. My whole life is going to totally change. It's finally going to be moving forward.
Pretty good day really.
Then today I get home and find the large white A4 envelope I've been waiting for. It seems very thin, and my heart skips a beat because I know that means rejection. After a single letter, and the no word, what is there left to say? But as I pull the envelope open I realise there are four sheets of paper, some coloured. I look at the top sheet and read quickly. My Mum, who was sitting on a chair nearby seems more nervous than me. There were lots of words but the gist is ...
I'm going back to University.
I swear loudly and cheer. Mum cheers too. And immediately reaches for the phone and starts calling everyone. I sit and read through the letter properly. Enrollment starts on 18th September. I finish work 22nd August, so I'll have some holiday time inbetween. Good. There is another sheet with important addresses and contacts -- and so to the colours. A reddy-pink sheet for turning it down (I put this to one side) and a pastel green for acceptance.
I ring Chris who's amazed. I ring Fani in Greece and we laugh at how we're both going to be students again (she's got to take all kinds of exams so that her UK degrees are valid over there).
Now I'm telling everyone else. This is something I really haven't mentioned on the weblog for fear that it'd be jinxed. I only let a few few people into the secret that I was applying for that same reason. It's what I've been working towards for about five years, as I slowly gathered the funding together so that I could study fulltime.
But it's months, years even since I've felt this happy. This contented. This is one of the things I've always dreamed of doing and suddenly it's out there in front of me. It's not quite sunk in. I'll be watching a film now it's part of my studies. Writing about television as part of a qualification. My whole life is going to totally change. It's finally going to be moving forward.
Pretty good day really.
"The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning."
Life I attended a book group tonight at the local Waterstones. Slightly disappointingly there weren't any neorotic Americans, footballer's wives or James Lance looakalikes. What I did find were a group of people passionate about books and who'd obviously finished more 'classic' novels than I have and probably read less tie-in novels about soon to be ressurected tv timelords. The book under discussion was Ian Fleming's Casino Royale and although some quite liked the book the for the wrong reasons, generally people had very few things to say about it. I found it quite dense for an one hundred-seventy odd pages and I've only reached halfway -- something I managed to bluff past by talking about the films a lot. There is one particularly tortuous chapter in which Bond explains the rules of Baccarat to his latest female companion over dinner. Anyone else doing that would have seen their date disappear to the bathroom and out of the window.
I have a theory about friendships which developed at roughly the time I met Fani all those years ago. I think that someone moves from being someone you met to friend depending on how long you spend with them socially and that pulling a time out of the air that's probably twenty-four hours. If you can stand to spend a calender day of your spare time with someone they're probably your friend. What was interesting tonight is that most of the people there didn't seem to be 'friends' yet. Many had obviously been going on a monthly basis for a few years, but with only an hour and a half every now and then, they didn't seem to have got to know each other on a personal level. So there was still a level of politeness of not wanting to step on any toes.
Except. There was something between the lines. For example, the subject of whether the book was a classic was being explored. Everyone had different copies of the novel. The majority had the newest Penguin edition with a silver cover which proclaims it to be a classic. One of the more outspoken people in the group was saying how he didn't consider it to be a classic, and the woman sitting next to me mentioned what it said on her new edition, to which he replied in a condescening way: "Well it doesn't say on mine, love." I watched her face which moved from hearing what he said, deciphering it then said quietly but incredulously, "Love!?!" I was the only one who heard it but I found myself giggling. But the point is that if they'd been friends, the woman would definately have made a point of making her feelings known loudly and quickly, but because those two are still in the polite stage, she kept shtum lest ill will spread. But she'll remember...
I have a theory about friendships which developed at roughly the time I met Fani all those years ago. I think that someone moves from being someone you met to friend depending on how long you spend with them socially and that pulling a time out of the air that's probably twenty-four hours. If you can stand to spend a calender day of your spare time with someone they're probably your friend. What was interesting tonight is that most of the people there didn't seem to be 'friends' yet. Many had obviously been going on a monthly basis for a few years, but with only an hour and a half every now and then, they didn't seem to have got to know each other on a personal level. So there was still a level of politeness of not wanting to step on any toes.
Except. There was something between the lines. For example, the subject of whether the book was a classic was being explored. Everyone had different copies of the novel. The majority had the newest Penguin edition with a silver cover which proclaims it to be a classic. One of the more outspoken people in the group was saying how he didn't consider it to be a classic, and the woman sitting next to me mentioned what it said on her new edition, to which he replied in a condescening way: "Well it doesn't say on mine, love." I watched her face which moved from hearing what he said, deciphering it then said quietly but incredulously, "Love!?!" I was the only one who heard it but I found myself giggling. But the point is that if they'd been friends, the woman would definately have made a point of making her feelings known loudly and quickly, but because those two are still in the polite stage, she kept shtum lest ill will spread. But she'll remember...
"Have you heard of someone called Asterix?"
Film I'm begin to lose faith in subtitled films.
Sorry, let me type that again.
I'm beginning to lose faith with subtitles in film.
For a while I've been watching international cinema with a certain amount of caution, not because the film's aren't great, because they are, but I'm losing the conviction that what my mono-lingual eyes are reading doesn't match the dialogue. For all I know, I could be getting the wrong idea about a range of characters and plotlines because I'm trusting the subtitler to do a good job. I was once watching the film Go with Fani and she was laughing now and then, and it turned out the Greek subtitles included jokes which weren't in the English version. The other week when reader Jay Griffiths said she'd been at a screen of Fellini's 8 1/2 the night after me and said that the screen words were not half as filthy as the spoken words.
Then tonight I saw La Haine and the wierdness continued. The film is about twenty-four hours in the life three Paris suburbanites, which in that city means tracksuits, drugs and guns. The three characters travel into the city to pick up some money from a gangster type whose nickname is Asterix. They aren't sure were he lives in an apartment so they decide to ring each flat in turn until his answers. Which means they have to ask each person if they've heard of someone called Asterix. That's Asterix. The Gaul. Small guy, helmet, blonde moustache. The three youngster are all saying Asterix. So why when one of them calls a flat and they ask:
"Have you heard of someone called Asterix?"
do the subtitles say ....
"Have you heard of someone called Snoopy?"
Now I understand the reason. The subtitlers are afraid that not everyone in the world has heard of the small French character. But this assumes that everyone in the English speaking world has read the work of Charles Schultz. It just seems wrong. But then -- the flat owner retorts with something along the lines of ...
"Yeah, and I'm Obelix."
with becomes ...
"Yeah, and I'm Charlie Brown."
The other issue is that anyone trying to learn the language would be particularly confused and wonder why if there is already and Asterix in France they decided to give Snoopy the same name. Unless like me they're aware of both properties and sit in wonder trying to work out why they made such a pointless change. Any other clangers out there?
Sorry, let me type that again.
I'm beginning to lose faith with subtitles in film.
For a while I've been watching international cinema with a certain amount of caution, not because the film's aren't great, because they are, but I'm losing the conviction that what my mono-lingual eyes are reading doesn't match the dialogue. For all I know, I could be getting the wrong idea about a range of characters and plotlines because I'm trusting the subtitler to do a good job. I was once watching the film Go with Fani and she was laughing now and then, and it turned out the Greek subtitles included jokes which weren't in the English version. The other week when reader Jay Griffiths said she'd been at a screen of Fellini's 8 1/2 the night after me and said that the screen words were not half as filthy as the spoken words.
Then tonight I saw La Haine and the wierdness continued. The film is about twenty-four hours in the life three Paris suburbanites, which in that city means tracksuits, drugs and guns. The three characters travel into the city to pick up some money from a gangster type whose nickname is Asterix. They aren't sure were he lives in an apartment so they decide to ring each flat in turn until his answers. Which means they have to ask each person if they've heard of someone called Asterix. That's Asterix. The Gaul. Small guy, helmet, blonde moustache. The three youngster are all saying Asterix. So why when one of them calls a flat and they ask:
"Have you heard of someone called Asterix?"
do the subtitles say ....
"Have you heard of someone called Snoopy?"
Now I understand the reason. The subtitlers are afraid that not everyone in the world has heard of the small French character. But this assumes that everyone in the English speaking world has read the work of Charles Schultz. It just seems wrong. But then -- the flat owner retorts with something along the lines of ...
"Yeah, and I'm Obelix."
with becomes ...
"Yeah, and I'm Charlie Brown."
The other issue is that anyone trying to learn the language would be particularly confused and wonder why if there is already and Asterix in France they decided to give Snoopy the same name. Unless like me they're aware of both properties and sit in wonder trying to work out why they made such a pointless change. Any other clangers out there?
'Some random.' 'It's on random.' 'Oh.'
Life Met Suw Charman today. I was a bit nervous beforehand, and in fact when I telephoned her to see if I was in right place when her train didn't arrive in Birmingham quite on schedule, I contracted temporary amnesia and forgot which station I was standing in when she asked. Perhaps it was some previous experiences, and those differences which sometimes happen between how people are together online and then in the real world. The last thing I wanted after we'd both traveled half the way up or down the country to get together for us not to gel.
I needn't have worried. It was a really good day. Because it felt so easy. I can be a bit isolated at times because I don't tend to meet people who share the same interests -- who want to talk about film production or weblogging or for that matter even know what the latter is. There is something extraordinarily theraputic about being able to talk to someone for hours and hours without hesitation, with some repetition and lots of deviation, especially if they know what they're talking about. Sometimes as we walked about we got lost in the city or hit dead ends in shopping centres because of all the talking. I can't wait to for us to get together again soon.
Back in Liverpool by 8:30. Caught a taxi to Fani's place so that I could see her for the final time before she leaves tomorrow. It was emotional. Even though I know I'll see her again (either because I'll visit her home in Greece or because she'll be back here soon studying something else) I do feel like I'm letting a really good friend go. She's effected the who-I-am in ways I wouldn't be able to put into words and continues to do so. It's just going to be different in the future and I'm getting those guilty pangs about all the times when we didn't get together because work or tiredness got in the way. If there is something I've learnt from today it's that it's always worth making the effort to do anything because quietly unforgettable things can happen.
I needn't have worried. It was a really good day. Because it felt so easy. I can be a bit isolated at times because I don't tend to meet people who share the same interests -- who want to talk about film production or weblogging or for that matter even know what the latter is. There is something extraordinarily theraputic about being able to talk to someone for hours and hours without hesitation, with some repetition and lots of deviation, especially if they know what they're talking about. Sometimes as we walked about we got lost in the city or hit dead ends in shopping centres because of all the talking. I can't wait to for us to get together again soon.
Back in Liverpool by 8:30. Caught a taxi to Fani's place so that I could see her for the final time before she leaves tomorrow. It was emotional. Even though I know I'll see her again (either because I'll visit her home in Greece or because she'll be back here soon studying something else) I do feel like I'm letting a really good friend go. She's effected the who-I-am in ways I wouldn't be able to put into words and continues to do so. It's just going to be different in the future and I'm getting those guilty pangs about all the times when we didn't get together because work or tiredness got in the way. If there is something I've learnt from today it's that it's always worth making the effort to do anything because quietly unforgettable things can happen.
'It's the end but...'
Life It's difficult to put today into coherent words but I'll try anyway. Two things happened which will change my life if not forever, but for the forseable future. The first was a change in my work hours. When I started my present job it was on a rota basis. So over a repeated seven weeks programme I've been working anywhere between an 8am-4pm shift or a 2pm-10pm shift with one weekend in there as well. At the beginning it was good to have the variety but after a while it became very tiring, because for some reason the concert I'd want to go to or the private view or the film would always seem to fall at a time when work commitments meant I simply couldn't go. Also my sleeping patterns were always in constant state of flux. I found out today that the rota is being scrapped and from Monday I'll be on fixed hours, like the song says I'll be working Nine 'til Five and to a degree I'll feel like I can get my life back. For the first time, routine sounds like magic. And I smiled broadly for three hours.
Then I spoke to Fani. Fani is one of my best friends, who I've known for five years since I met her at a night school course, who's been one of the few constants through everything else which has happened. She's studied a BA and 2 MAs and now that her course is finishing she's been looking for work so that she can afford to stay in the UK. But apart a couple of weeks of voluntary teaching observation and the odd hour of tutoring here and there she hasn't been able to find anything. So when I spoke to her early to check about a night out we're having tomorrow she told me that she'd bought a one way ticket back to Greece and she'd be leaving on the 3rd November. I went to pieces, and frankly after she'd gone from the phone I cried. It's funny - I knew that she'd be going eventually, and the possibility has presented itself at the end of each of her different courses. And with our work and school schedules lately we haven't been seeing each other as much as we used to but its just going be a shock for her not to at least be there or the possibility of her returning. I know she's only going to be in Greece and if she goes through with her plan for applying for a PGCE and returning to the UK she'll be even closer so we can get together now and then, but it won't be the same -- these things never are. As usual I won't be saying goodbye really. But it's the end of an era.
Then I spoke to Fani. Fani is one of my best friends, who I've known for five years since I met her at a night school course, who's been one of the few constants through everything else which has happened. She's studied a BA and 2 MAs and now that her course is finishing she's been looking for work so that she can afford to stay in the UK. But apart a couple of weeks of voluntary teaching observation and the odd hour of tutoring here and there she hasn't been able to find anything. So when I spoke to her early to check about a night out we're having tomorrow she told me that she'd bought a one way ticket back to Greece and she'd be leaving on the 3rd November. I went to pieces, and frankly after she'd gone from the phone I cried. It's funny - I knew that she'd be going eventually, and the possibility has presented itself at the end of each of her different courses. And with our work and school schedules lately we haven't been seeing each other as much as we used to but its just going be a shock for her not to at least be there or the possibility of her returning. I know she's only going to be in Greece and if she goes through with her plan for applying for a PGCE and returning to the UK she'll be even closer so we can get together now and then, but it won't be the same -- these things never are. As usual I won't be saying goodbye really. But it's the end of an era.
Sport I think the word for the Olympics opening ceremony in Greece was gloopy. Pacing wise it reminded me of the film Saving Private Ryan. Began with lots of bombast and excitement, then an hour and a half of people walking around before an impressive finish. After five years of being exposed to Greek culture through Fani it was interesting being able to spot cultural icons and references, especially during the extended history lesson. Unintentional amusement at hearing Barry Davis, sports commentator extraordinare reading this script; intelligent man to be sure but being told in that voice about DNA Helixes and the dawn of civilisation felt odd. But not as odd as the appearance of Bjork, who we love but seemed alightly out of place -- Natasha Atlas not available? Nostalgia abounded for the Manchester Commonwealth Games where I volunteered in 2002 -- and a certain amount of envy at seeing the jumpsuits the volunteers are wearing in Athens. Who could forget the purple monstrosity I had to wear. At least this time I'll have a chance to see more than one sport...
TV Eight or nine years ago I got a phone call from Tris. He asked me if I'd been watching this american sitcom because he'd been sitting around with his family trying to work out the lyrics. We sat on the phone and sang our way through as best we could but there was one which made no sense to either of us.
'You're job's a joke, yer broke, your love life's na na ne ...'
There were letters but it didn't make sense. So I got off the phone got a video out. Fast forwarded through the teaser and ...
'You're job's a joke, yer broke, your love life's Deeeooowaa...'
I rang him back.
'They sing deeeooowaaa.'
'What's deeeooowaaa. Oh DOA'
' "You're love life's DOA" Dead on arrival? That still doesn't make any sense. And it doesn't sound very nice.'
'But at least we can understand it now.' He said goodbye and hung up.
An hour ago Fani rang. We talked through a few problems we were both having and I reminded her that the last episode of the same show was on tonight. I don't think she was ever a fan -- just something on in the background when she was getting ready to go out. But I managed talk her into watching. The phone calls at opposite ends of a decade with people who think of the programme in different ways. Both with Friends.
It's actually a shock to think that it's finally over. Of course the final episode (written by the creators) was exactly what it should be. Within the forty-five or so minutes all of the plotlines and character arcs which have developed over the past ten years came to fruition. I love that Ross and Rachel ... y'know. That Monica got to win again and made a mess doing it. That Chandler was able to square being a dufus with being in a good strong marriage. That Joey came to terms with the changes (although were will the new chick and duck go when he heads off to spin-off land). And that Phoebe found the man you loved her kookiness. But more than that it was a celebration of everything we've loved about the show. Hell, Gunther even had his moment finally telling Rachel he loved her screwing up Ross's chance to do the same in all its first seasoness. About the only things missing were a monkey, an ugly naked guy, a flashback and a final visit to Central Perk for Joey to say something stupid. And more importantly it didn't try to be anything but an episode of the same show. It didn't throw out the formula which had made it popular for years or try and make some big statement. It made just made us laugh. And that's always been the point.
[I wanted to write something longer and more insightful but Lucy Mangan and David Aaronovitch got there before me. So read what they said instead. Mangan's experience is frighteningly similar to mine.]
'You're job's a joke, yer broke, your love life's na na ne ...'
There were letters but it didn't make sense. So I got off the phone got a video out. Fast forwarded through the teaser and ...
'You're job's a joke, yer broke, your love life's Deeeooowaa...'
I rang him back.
'They sing deeeooowaaa.'
'What's deeeooowaaa. Oh DOA'
' "You're love life's DOA" Dead on arrival? That still doesn't make any sense. And it doesn't sound very nice.'
'But at least we can understand it now.' He said goodbye and hung up.
An hour ago Fani rang. We talked through a few problems we were both having and I reminded her that the last episode of the same show was on tonight. I don't think she was ever a fan -- just something on in the background when she was getting ready to go out. But I managed talk her into watching. The phone calls at opposite ends of a decade with people who think of the programme in different ways. Both with Friends.
It's actually a shock to think that it's finally over. Of course the final episode (written by the creators) was exactly what it should be. Within the forty-five or so minutes all of the plotlines and character arcs which have developed over the past ten years came to fruition. I love that Ross and Rachel ... y'know. That Monica got to win again and made a mess doing it. That Chandler was able to square being a dufus with being in a good strong marriage. That Joey came to terms with the changes (although were will the new chick and duck go when he heads off to spin-off land). And that Phoebe found the man you loved her kookiness. But more than that it was a celebration of everything we've loved about the show. Hell, Gunther even had his moment finally telling Rachel he loved her screwing up Ross's chance to do the same in all its first seasoness. About the only things missing were a monkey, an ugly naked guy, a flashback and a final visit to Central Perk for Joey to say something stupid. And more importantly it didn't try to be anything but an episode of the same show. It didn't throw out the formula which had made it popular for years or try and make some big statement. It made just made us laugh. And that's always been the point.
[I wanted to write something longer and more insightful but Lucy Mangan and David Aaronovitch got there before me. So read what they said instead. Mangan's experience is frighteningly similar to mine.]
Plug! My friend Fani Polyzoi is looking for employment in the UK, something in languages, translation. Her native language is Greek but she's studied Classics a lot. Her CV can be looked at here in Microsoft Word format.
Life Goodness where did all these 'things to do' come from? Back soon.
Update: Couldn't stay away. Actually, tonight I went into town with Fani and after a coffee and carrot cake went to the John Moores University for a drink. I haven't been to a student union bar for a few years and apart from the stark realisation that I was old enough to be the lecturer of the clientelle, I was suprised at how little things have changed. I don't know what I was expecting, but it could have been ten years ago. All I could think was -- 'If I'd known then what I know now...' Any differences were fairly subtle -- people seemed more tactile than I remember, there were more mobile phones out on tables and when people began to sing along with Oasis' Wonderwall on the jukebox it was in an slightly ironic way, unlike during my time when it was the anthem of a generation.
Update: Couldn't stay away. Actually, tonight I went into town with Fani and after a coffee and carrot cake went to the John Moores University for a drink. I haven't been to a student union bar for a few years and apart from the stark realisation that I was old enough to be the lecturer of the clientelle, I was suprised at how little things have changed. I don't know what I was expecting, but it could have been ten years ago. All I could think was -- 'If I'd known then what I know now...' Any differences were fairly subtle -- people seemed more tactile than I remember, there were more mobile phones out on tables and when people began to sing along with Oasis' Wonderwall on the jukebox it was in an slightly ironic way, unlike during my time when it was the anthem of a generation.
Life I've now lost my voice. At the risk of sounding like John Hurt pretending to be Alan Clarke, 'This is intollerable...' I have this pain at the back of my throat which feels like someone is permanently jabbing it with a pencil. I spoke to Fani earlier on the telephone and she said she didn't recognise me. I don't recognise me. Two days until my holiday ...
Life Fani's over tonight and currently watching Sex in the City. I'm not. This is a programme I've watched rarely. It's not that I haven't tried. After all I should love it. It's set in New York. It has snappy dialogue. But somewhere between trying to keep up with new episodes and who the hell everything is, nothing gelled. Perhaps when I sign up for The Guardian's DVD rental service, which was so painless it would be stupid not too, I'll catch up.
So here we are at friday already again. I've spent much of the week having a low budget time in catching up on films and music and reading. It seems unexciting (and possibly is) put time's gone quickly and I'm already wondering about all the things I can be doing with the next forty-eight hours. I'm wondering if it's possible to spring a surprise on yourself. I'll tell you tomorrow ...
So here we are at friday already again. I've spent much of the week having a low budget time in catching up on films and music and reading. It seems unexciting (and possibly is) put time's gone quickly and I'm already wondering about all the things I can be doing with the next forty-eight hours. I'm wondering if it's possible to spring a surprise on yourself. I'll tell you tomorrow ...
Drink After the half-concert we visit a Cypriot fast food restaurant because Fani needed fuel before she went home to watch 'I'm a Celebrity ....' I'd already eaten so instead I order a glass of juice which meant I could visit up on the sheer poety of their Zummo Juicing Machine. I'll let Zummo's website sum up the experience of watching the thing at work:
"Now here's an innovation from Zummo, specialists in making fruit juice drinks more and more appealing. The Big Fresh Orange is unique citrus fruit press and dispensing machine that will fascinate your customers as they watch oranges (or lemons, grapefruit or limes) physically being cut in half and squeezed into their glass and the rest is fully automatic.The clerk filled the top of the machine with this yellowy/green/orangy citrus fruit and when the machine was turned on it pulled the not quite oranges/lemons/anything into some waiting arms which litterally wipped them apart, juiced them and threw the skins away into little bins waiting on either side. In a way which suggests she was trying to sell me one, the clerk told me she'd bought a smaller one for her kitchen at home but that it took ten oranges to fill a glass (which seems like an awful lot) and that it was a pain in the arse to clean (I didn't say it was a good sales pitch).
To watch The Big Fresh procedeure is pure theatre! Thats why we have disigned our machines to become an attractive but compact part of your bar or counter merchandising area. Whether you're operating a club, shop, restaurant or bar, if you want to impress customers with your desire to offer a quality service, install a Zummo machine and watch the sun shine in onyour customer relations.
Life We walked out of our first concert at The Phil Liverpool tonight. In keeping with previous walk outs I won't mention the pianist in question because he was perfectly fine. I think it had more to do with the mix of Liszt and Hummel, the fact that Fani and I were very tired (she's been hammering her college work into the small hours and I've been up since 6:45 for work) and for much of the time bored shiftless. Of the two composers, Hummel seemed more coherent, but without the expected clap break I'm not sure were one composer started and the other ended. So when we realised that we hadn't in fact heard the Chopin as well (this would come in the second half) we decided to cut our losses. Perhaps if we had been more awake we could have appreciated it more, but when you're working through the logistics of what else you've got to do that week and what'll you'll be doing when you get home and not focusing on the music at all, it's probably best to bd a hasty retreat. I will be getting the Chopin we missed on CD (good old Naxos) so that I listen to what we didn't see.
Photography Aerial shots of my friend Fani's village Vavdos ... taken from a hand glider! How did that happen? Perhaps these people know ....
Music The night school course I was going to study with Fani this term was pulled at the last minute, so at a loose end we found ourselves in The Philharmonic Hall watching The Dante Quartet performing Mozart, Szymanowski and Brahms. I would like to review the concert, but as I've already said on many an occasion I can't review music, and I don't even know where to begin with the classics. In the interval the audience (average age over fifty), who seemed to all be part of some society which attends these concerts of chamber music were all chattering away about movements and what they thought of the playing.
It sounded very good to me. But then seeing people who are my age or younger who have the concentration and skill to create something with that beauty, seemingly so effortlessly (barring some heavy breathing and grunting) and find it very hard to criticise. I like not knowing much about classical music because it means I'm not left in the kind of deconstructive mess I usually find myself with films. When I was at school my friend Richard tried to 'educate' me, but got somewhat annoyed when I tapped my feet the Handel's Messiah. I know some of the history and I can recognise some of the tunes, but it's mostly a foreign place for me. Which means I can just enjoy what's presented to me and let it emote or wash over me. Ignorance is bliss is a cliche, but in this case it's a perfect explaination.
We sneaked into one of the boxes for the second half. I say sneaked. I asked if it would be OK first, which is depressingly straight I know and one step towards becoming The Man, but I didn't want to get thrown out. That would have been embarassing. Other than the privacy aspect it really isn't all that special. You're away from the stage by some margin and in this case the music seemed somewhat far off. The acoustics seemed much better in the stall were we'd started out, and we hadn't had nearly as many disapproving looks here (a woman in the next box seemed to be of the crowd who believe classical music is for people with grey hair, even if in this case it's actually being performed by young people). I love spontaneous evenings like this.
It sounded very good to me. But then seeing people who are my age or younger who have the concentration and skill to create something with that beauty, seemingly so effortlessly (barring some heavy breathing and grunting) and find it very hard to criticise. I like not knowing much about classical music because it means I'm not left in the kind of deconstructive mess I usually find myself with films. When I was at school my friend Richard tried to 'educate' me, but got somewhat annoyed when I tapped my feet the Handel's Messiah. I know some of the history and I can recognise some of the tunes, but it's mostly a foreign place for me. Which means I can just enjoy what's presented to me and let it emote or wash over me. Ignorance is bliss is a cliche, but in this case it's a perfect explaination.
We sneaked into one of the boxes for the second half. I say sneaked. I asked if it would be OK first, which is depressingly straight I know and one step towards becoming The Man, but I didn't want to get thrown out. That would have been embarassing. Other than the privacy aspect it really isn't all that special. You're away from the stage by some margin and in this case the music seemed somewhat far off. The acoustics seemed much better in the stall were we'd started out, and we hadn't had nearly as many disapproving looks here (a woman in the next box seemed to be of the crowd who believe classical music is for people with grey hair, even if in this case it's actually being performed by young people). I love spontaneous evenings like this.
Life I was stuck in a lift tonight. I'd gone up to the University with my friend Fani for the first night of the new Popular World Music course and I was running late (as usual). I'd been to the loo in the basement and since the lecture room is on the second floor, I'd called the lift. Which was then taking an age. I waited. Fani called on my mobile, she was upstairs so I met her in the entrance hall by the lift. Which then went to the basement where I wasn't standing. Few minutes. The lift opens on the ground floor. There are already a few people in, but we managed to squeeze in. Doors close, lift leaves the floor. And stops.
I look at Fani. Fani looks at me. We look at the other people in the lift.
"Oh no, not again." Someone says at the back. "This happened yesterday morning as well."
Now two questions arise from this. Firstly, why didn't you tell us that the lift was prone to breaking down before we got on. Second of all -- if you know the lift might breakdown again with you in it ... why the hell did you enter in the first place!?!
We try pressing a few buttons. The second floor light is lit, and lift moves again. About three centimetres before stopping. We try the alarm. It's loud. It's piercing. No one seems to be hearing it.
I turn to Fani and tell her we've got a good excuse for being late. Fani nods. I'm panicking slightly. She's cool as a cucumber (which is so typically her). The woman who had said the lift had broken down the day before says she's a tutor and has no excuse. I agree.
And being the tutor in the group she takes it upon herself to be leader. So when the emergency phone rings, she answers it. It's the building security, who she is on first name terms with. "No." she says, "I don't know what floor we're on." I looked through the crack in the doors. I see the sign for the first floor.
"We're on the first floor." I say.
"We're on the first floor." I say.
"We're on the first floor." I say.
I say it twice more. At no point does she think it important to pass on this information. She's too busy telling the guard that she is late for her class. Her life drawing class. Asking him if he wouldn't mind going up, telling the life model which position to get into and for the class to start drawing. This seems to concern her more than the fact that WE ARE STUCK IN A LIFT.
I try talking to Fani, but for some reason she isn't in the mood for a chat about her new flatmate. But I need to talk. It's what I do in situations like this.
By now it's getting hot. The only air coming in is through the gap in the door, so it's also getting stuffy. I keep over reacting, thinking and alluding to the lift scene at the start of the film 'Speed'.
"Although" I say, "I'm assuming Dennis Hopper isn't in the basement planting a bomb." For some reason no one laughs. I realise I'm the wrong kind of comedian.
The phone rings again. I answer it this time, asserting my masculine authority being the only man 'on board'. It's the guard. He asks to speak the lecturer.
"It's for you." I say as I pass her the phone.
"Right thanks." She says to the phone. "And you've. Good. Thanks." She puts the phone down. "The lift engineer is one the way."
Everyone stands in silence, until five minutes late the lift starts to move. Everyone sighs. The doors open -- and we're back on the ground floor. Someone wants to get into the lift.
"Don't get in the lift." we say in unison. And we took the stairs. Which I'll be doing for the next ten weeks. I need the excercise anyway.
I ask Fani how she is.
"Bit tired." She yawns.
I look at Fani. Fani looks at me. We look at the other people in the lift.
"Oh no, not again." Someone says at the back. "This happened yesterday morning as well."
Now two questions arise from this. Firstly, why didn't you tell us that the lift was prone to breaking down before we got on. Second of all -- if you know the lift might breakdown again with you in it ... why the hell did you enter in the first place!?!
We try pressing a few buttons. The second floor light is lit, and lift moves again. About three centimetres before stopping. We try the alarm. It's loud. It's piercing. No one seems to be hearing it.
I turn to Fani and tell her we've got a good excuse for being late. Fani nods. I'm panicking slightly. She's cool as a cucumber (which is so typically her). The woman who had said the lift had broken down the day before says she's a tutor and has no excuse. I agree.
And being the tutor in the group she takes it upon herself to be leader. So when the emergency phone rings, she answers it. It's the building security, who she is on first name terms with. "No." she says, "I don't know what floor we're on." I looked through the crack in the doors. I see the sign for the first floor.
"We're on the first floor." I say.
"We're on the first floor." I say.
"We're on the first floor." I say.
I say it twice more. At no point does she think it important to pass on this information. She's too busy telling the guard that she is late for her class. Her life drawing class. Asking him if he wouldn't mind going up, telling the life model which position to get into and for the class to start drawing. This seems to concern her more than the fact that WE ARE STUCK IN A LIFT.
I try talking to Fani, but for some reason she isn't in the mood for a chat about her new flatmate. But I need to talk. It's what I do in situations like this.
By now it's getting hot. The only air coming in is through the gap in the door, so it's also getting stuffy. I keep over reacting, thinking and alluding to the lift scene at the start of the film 'Speed'.
"Although" I say, "I'm assuming Dennis Hopper isn't in the basement planting a bomb." For some reason no one laughs. I realise I'm the wrong kind of comedian.
The phone rings again. I answer it this time, asserting my masculine authority being the only man 'on board'. It's the guard. He asks to speak the lecturer.
"It's for you." I say as I pass her the phone.
"Right thanks." She says to the phone. "And you've. Good. Thanks." She puts the phone down. "The lift engineer is one the way."
Everyone stands in silence, until five minutes late the lift starts to move. Everyone sighs. The doors open -- and we're back on the ground floor. Someone wants to get into the lift.
"Don't get in the lift." we say in unison. And we took the stairs. Which I'll be doing for the next ten weeks. I need the excercise anyway.
I ask Fani how she is.
"Bit tired." She yawns.
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