Charlie don't surf

'Rock 'n' roll journo' is back

2005-01-28T14:26:00.000Z

I'd like to take back what I've always said about London bus drivers (that they are, in the main, deeply unhappy souls who delight in finding ways to drive past would-be passengers, leaving them in the cold and rain to wait for the next vehicle to randomly happen along.)

Shortly after 2am last night, following an enjoyable (and indiscretion-free, I'm pleased to say) work night out, I was making my way to my night bus stop on the Strand, only to see that the N171 had just left the stop and was waiting at traffic lights just before the left-turn on to Waterloo Bridge.

My only chance of avoiding up to an hour's wait for the next bus, was to run ahead to the next stop, which I started to do, wilfully ignoring the fact there was no chance of me making the stop at the other end of the bridge in time. The bus came round the corner and passed my galloping form, duffel coat flapping behind me, and promptly pulled over at the first opportunity - doubtless illegally - and opened its door to admit me. I think the driver was somewhat embarrassed by my profuse thanks.

Maybe having clear roads to drive on makes night bus drivers less vindictive than the day-shift sadists.

Anyway, after two big nights out in Soho with the KP on Monday, and with Jo, Sarah and the KP on Tuesday, that's three night buses in the space of four nights for Stevie. That "rock 'n' roll journalist" tag's not looking so ironic now, is it, TY?

(I am aware that no-one may be bothering to look at this any more, due to the infrequency of postings, but I am now computered-up at home and hope to be online within days. Then let the deluge of witty despatches (re-)commence.)

Marks out of thirty? Twenty-four

2004-12-01T21:39:00.000Z

Three cultural outings in six days for Stevie.

On Wednesday 24, Jo, Tracey, Adam and I went to see Stewart "The Bill Hicks who didn't die" Lee at the Soho Theatre.

Time Out's chief comedy critic had said: "One of the best stand-up gigs I've witnessed in over 20 years of watching live comedy." Well, I haven't been watching live comedy for that long, but it was damn fine stuff. Intelligent and puerile, serious and trivial, and performed with real presence and mastery of the craft. He had this great way of half-pausing mid-punchline, so that the audience almost got ahead of the joke and laughed into the space. Anyway, it seemed to increase the laughs. Timing, I guess, is the word.

I thought the highlight was a routine about how Americans are not a naturally curious people - and before any Americans who may read this complain, he backed this up with the statistic that 60% don't own passports (what's more, all my American friends are exceptions.) Anyway, he suggested that if you locked an American in a bunker for 30 years with only a tea cosy, they wouldn't in that time be curious to find out whether the tea cosy would function as a serviceable hat.

9/10

On Friday 26, Kelvin, Andy Richards and I went to see the laid-back country rock of The Loose Salute at Barfly Camden. It was the second time Kelvin and I had seen them, and on this occasion it was a slightly-less-than-vintage performance (largely due to a sloppy mix and chatty twats in the audience.) Nevertheless, debut single Turn the Radio Up still sounded great.

7/10

On Monday 29, Chris (Bird), Andy Richards, Dominic and I went to see the death-obsessed country rock of Willard Grant Conspiracy at the Garage. I hadn't been at the venue formerly dubbed "Indie Mecca" since the great days of Rob Liddiard and mine's doomed guitar band, Tonic, and it was good to be back. It hasn't changed. Anyway, WGC were great. The songs are marvellously dark and brooding, and a cracking band gave properly rocking support to the enormous, wonderfully still figure of frontman Robert Fisher.

Typical Mr Fisher between songs banter: "This next song's just the familiar story of boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, boy and girl die in a bloody suicide pact in the woods." All strangely uplifting.

8/10

Read it and weep

2004-11-23T13:27:00.000Z

Monday was the anniversary of England's incredible triumph in the Rugby World Cup final.

For those who saw it, one image from the occasion endures more vividly in the memory than any other. No, not Jonny Wilkinson's match-winning right-footed drop goal seconds from the end of extra time. Not even the mighty Martin Johnson fulfilling his destiny by holding aloft the gleaming Webb Ellis Trophy. No, the image that will be with me until my dying day, unless senility or alcohol despatch it before then, is of Geoffrey Hazlewood emerging through the mist-y eyed crowd in the Racing Page, his cheeks damp from tears and with the shattered look of a man who has lived every tackle, every ruck and every scrum with his team.

On the train to Watford Junction yesterday (here's why), the excellent anniversary coverage in a Daily Telegraph sport section someone had left behind brought back all the memories of what was a remarkable day - even for a Scotsman - and I ended up getting a little misty-eyed myself. An excerpt from Paul Hayward's piece is cut and pasted below.

Before that though, if the news is generally inclined to make you despair at the human race, check out this amazing, heartwarming story.

Now back to that rugby match:

Today, Nov 22, is the first anniversary of the most dramatic triumph in rugby history: a feat to compare with the Boys of '66 raising the Jules Rimet at Wembley. But since Jonny Wilkinson bisected Australia's posts with a dropped goal 28 seconds from the end of extra time, England have emptied, scattered, broken down, gasped for breath and tried to regroup in one great cycle of coming and going.

No fact speaks louder than the realisation that England have lost their coach (Woodward) and leader (Martin Johnson) and have been without their most prolific scorer and new captain (yes, Wilkinson) for most of the past year, not to mention Lawrence Dallaglio, Neil Back and Jason Leonard, who were all made in a blacksmith's forge. Others succumbed to serious injury or became ghosts of their World Cup-winning selves. Here were a team who had walked through fire to arrive at an 80-minute slab of Australian time invincible, and were both made and broken in the delirium of a single kick.

If you watched Woodward's finest launch their bodies against southern hemisphere opposition in the run-up to 2003, you knew they were reaching into the furthest recesses of their souls. The ferocity of some of those matches will never leave the memory. Nor will the physical sacrifices made by Johnson and his pack. It was all leading to one moment. The ultimate trial. It was finite. The flames would consume them in the end.

Good food, good company

2004-11-18T19:26:00.000Z

I managed to accidentally invite myself round to Gail and Chris's for dinner last night, which was well-timed, in fact, with Sara's last night in the UK before returning to Baghdad.

As ever, I was treated there to hospitality of the highest order. Chris, despite having been off work for almost two weeks following a knee operation, rustled up roast beef, asparagus and fried squash, followed by dessert of chocolate eclairs and mince pies (this mince pie fanatic's first of the year).

As you will see below, Gail and Chris are closing fast on James and Helen in my league table of owed hospitality. They have a long way to go, though, to threaten Geoffrey and Karen's near-unassailable position at the top.

I shall endeavour to make 2005 the year of returned hospitality.

Quins on song... at last

2004-11-13T18:16:00.000Z

Harlequins managed their first win of the season from 11 games in some style on Friday. It will tell you how bizarre an evening it was when I say that when I went to the bar just after kick-off - no, that's not the extraordinary bit - I returned to my seat to find I'd missed three Quins tries. They eventually ran in six - more than in all their previous home games combined - to beat Saracens by 40-10.

James and mine's repeated full-throated renditions of "Come all without" can only have enhanced South Stand spectators' experience (fans in other stands were singing, but those in the cheap seats never really get into it, leaving our voices brutally exposed. We were up to the challenge.)

It was a pleasure for the Quins faithful to be joined for the first time this season by Bellen - clearly a lucky mascot, we shall have a whip-round for another season ticket (and possibly a Harley bear costume.)

In a related matter, the main bar had 200 plastic jugs at the start of the season and now has only 11. Would those responsible please return them forthwith.

Meet the Wainwrights

2004-11-11T10:25:00.000Z

A truly great gig on Monday night by Rufus Wainwright at Shepherds Bush Empire. In contrast to some performers whose live shows fail to meet the standard of their studio-engineered albums, live is the way to experience this guy and his extraordinary voice. If you're not familiar with his work, you can listen to a few tracks on the official site. The highlight of the evening, possibly - although there were no lowlights - was a soaring version of Hallelujah in tribute to the late, also great, Jeff Buckley.

Tremendous support, too, from sis Martha. I'd long been meaning to direct you to the terrific song BMFA on her website. The talent's clearly in the genes (they're the offspring of folk singers Loudon Wainwright III and Kate McGarrigle.)

On a separate note, more than a week later I'm still struggling to find an answer to a truly baffling question.

'Two of life's winners'

2004-11-01T14:28:00.000Z

Saturday saw the best game at The Stoop in a season-and-a-half following Harlequins (apart from the injury-time win over Bath last season which prompted a pitch invasion and which Geoffrey and I missed having given away our tickets. D'oh!). With eight defeats from eight games this season, Quins appeared to lack the confidence to put the game away but hopefully a draw sees the rot stopped.

KP didn't come to the game and was left unsupervised in the pub for the afternoon. (When will we learn?) His evening ended with him tripping up as he came out of The Clapham North, leaving him with a swollen ankle he can barely walk on. He spent most of Sunday under a duvet on my sofa bed, despatching me to the shops for Dr Pepper, pickled onion Monster Munch, a Pot Noodle and Haribo, and we worked our way through almost the entire first series of Cheers on DVD. A pair of winners, we are.

Friday night's alright for rocking

2004-10-20T13:45:00.000+01:00

A large number of 13-year-old girls and my sister Jo, 33, thoroughly enjoyed Maroon 5 at the Shepherds Bush Empire on Friday night (just as well it wasn't a school-night). For my thoughts, see the cut-and-pasted Ceefax pages below. In this internet age, their antiquated appearance is rather charming.

Before Maroon 5 though, we enjoyed a short set outside BBC TV Centre by those proper rock stars, U2. It's a long time since I bought a U2 album (1991's Achtung Baby), and I'd argue that they are well past their best (1987's The Joshua Tree), but boy, they're still something special live. Maroon 5 couldn't hope to compare.

Oh, and I was right about Harlequins, although predicting that result was a no-brainer.

I am The Weekend-inator

2004-10-15T17:47:00.000+01:00

A busy week has included:

On Monday, a long but worthwhile trek to Docklands gastropub The Gun and viewing of Steven Spielberg's fitfully amusing but well-below-par The Terminal for Katie's 30th birthday.

On Tuesday, work, hindered by tiredness and a minor hangover that also rendered me emotionally vulnerable to manipulative television that evening - the only explanation, after all, for being reduced almost to tears by Wife Swap Changed My Marriage.

On Wednesday, reduced almost to tears again by calculating the likely cost of fitting new carpet in my bedroom and hall. Cheered myself up in the evening by renting Old School, specifically recommended by Albert Sharpe but also rumoured to be the favourite movie of Chris "I've still got it" Taffe (sadly though, he hasn't.) More than fitfully amusing, as it turned out, and a much-enjoyed blast of Ryan Adams on the soundtrack.

On Thursday, work, followed by drinks and food at La Perla (alas, not the lingerie joint) with Jo, Gail, Chris and The Bellen-ator.

Today, work (check out highly readable feature here), then shortly off to see Maroon 5 at Shepherds Bush Empire - don't judge me, the tickets were free through work and Jo's a fan.

Tomorrow, the it-can-only-be-ironically-named "Mighty" Harlequins welcome Leicester to The Stoop, the home side still in search of their first win of the season. They won't get it.

Have a nice weekend all.

Steve is away

2004-10-08T10:16:00.000+01:00

Have disappeared down to my folks' place in Chichester for six days R&R (plus a spot of writing).

Typically my parents are out and about on some adventure, walking the entire coastline of the UK or similar despite being mid- to late-fiftysomethings with not a good knee between them (come to think of it, theirs would be a readable blog), leaving me stranded three miles from Chichester with an empty fridge and only my father's bike to get around on.

I have survived on biscuits and ice cream. I have also, without access to my DVD library or Brockley's incomparable Homeview Video, survived, barely, on terrestrial television. The only thing that has got me through four evenings of Too Posh To Wash and Mediums: Talking to the Dead is the fact that The KP, in a bid to stay out of the pub, has also chained himself to his television every evening and we have been in very regular phone and text contact discussing what we're both watching, how dismal it is, what we plan to watch next and how dreadful that's sure to be.

By the third evening there was a prolonged discussion, with KP searching the internet, about possible ways of getting Paramount comedy channel instantly beamed into both our homes.

By the fourth evening Kelvin had given up and gone to the pub, while I locked myself in my father's wine cellar.

It's nice to be home.

All Greek to me

2004-09-27T21:41:00.000+01:00

On Saturday evening, Katie and I were at the Royal Opera House to see Bohuslav Martinu's The Greek Passion. Well, who doesn't love a bit of Martinu on a Saturday night.

It was a leaving-London present for Katie, who is now advancing her career in Birmingham. Following a promotion, just 32,540 BBC employees would have to be killed in a freak canteen accident for her to become Director General (it's considerably more for me.)

While I was an ROH virgin, it was Katie's second visit and she was dismayed at the decline in standards of dress among the audience since last time, with jeans and T-shirts now in evidence. Not in the camp that wants the arts made accessible to all, I guess.

As for the show, well, I wouldn't say I'm an instant opera convert, although maybe this wasn't the best place to start. It's an English language opera, and I think I might have fared better with a foreign language one where I would doubtless have been swept away by the impossible beauty of the singing and music. As it was, I found that understanding the words was not necessarily beneficial.

Take the exchange below, for example:

"Eat. Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Why? Why aren't you hungry."

Now sing it at the top of your voice. I don't care if you're at your place of work, SING IT, man!

Ends up sounding pretty ridiculous, doesn't it? (And that's not just because you can't hold a note.)

Still, the staging was spectacular:

We then enjoyed an excellent sea bass between us at Café Boheme (we couldn't run to a meal each after the tickets and fancy outfits), followed by the always-enjoyable hunt for a black cab at 3am. One which hadn't had its light on eventually pulled up, the driver remarking: "You don't look too drunk."

He told Katie on the journey home - her last to the Shepherd's Bush dungeon - that at that time of night it's always worth waving at cabs, light on or not, because they'll often leave their light off to throw staggering drunks off the scent.

A handy tip for Katie to have picked up on her final night in the capital (though during her time in London she more often fell, literally, into the "staggering drunk" category.)

The Lucy-inator

2004-09-22T01:30:00.000+01:00

A big hello to the gorgeous (that'll be Mum's genes then) Lucy Eve Hazlewood, a 7lb arrival last Friday, and massive congratulations to first-time parents Geoffrey and Karen.

Most of all though, glad to see she's already declared her preference for the oval ball game.

Just who is Ed The Shoe?

2004-09-17T13:07:00.000+01:00

A thoroughly enjoyable two-day trip earlier in the week down to the rural idyll of Beckington, Somerset, to stay with The KP (Check out his delightful home here.)

There was the inevitable lock-in on the first evening, during which The KP and I were prevented from buying a single drink by a pal of KP's whose racehorse had won at Bath that day. Our prowess on the quiz machine - see our domination of the High Scores table if you're passing - earned us an invite to Salisbury races the following day.

Despite sitting up until 4am, we were up and out in time for our lift and at the racecourse ahead of the first race at 1.40.

At first I felt a bit sheepish about my £2-each-way bets, given that KP's mates Martin and John seemed to be betting up to 100 times that. Still, the one time KP had a rush of blood to the head at the Tote counter and we put down an unprecedented tenner each, the horses ran like Paula Radcliffe with a pebble in her shoe.

We were both in the red going into the eighth and last race of the day, and despite backing the favourite looked to be plunging still deeper into penury until Keiron Fallon on Fearby Cross's final-furlong storm to the line prompted a momentary loss of cool and high five between The KP and myself - hey, we knew we'd need to be flush for another lock-in at the Foresters that evening.

All in all, I don't think I'll be making a regular thing of the ponies though. Weighing up the evidence in the Racing Post in order to make an informed punt looked like a lot of pretty mind-numbing work, plus a pro punter we had pointed out to us at Salisbury looked like a pretty miserable (and down-at-heel) character. Cool name though: Ed The Shoe.

'That's communism, honey'

2004-09-11T15:43:00.000+01:00

A survey conducted across 35 countries - excluding the US - has found that four out of five people worldwide want Democrat John Kerry to win this year's American presidential election. Let me repeat, four out of five. Pretty unequivocal.

The director of the survey said: "Though he is not as well known, Kerry would win handily if the people of the world were to elect the US president."

There's an idea. Alas, the rest of the world can only hope that good sense prevails this November among US voters (or rather the 50% that usually bother to exercise their democratic right). The latest polls in the States, however, show George W Bush opening up a clear lead over John Kerry.

How can one nation's people be so out of step with the entire rest of the planet?

An editorial piece in the Independent (read the whole thing here) a few days ago offered some ideas:

It's not hard to see why America's billionaires love Bush. Two thirds of his massive $350bn programme of tax cuts has gone to the richest 10 per cent of Americans. But even in America, the rich are a minority.

Why do so many poor and middle-income Americans support a party that has done nothing but spit on them for four long years?

Bush is dismantling the few social programmes in the US that help the poor, but he talks up his agreement with the hyper-patriotism, homophobia, evangelism and opposition to abortion prevalent among poor Americans. That's how he passes as a "regular guy" - unlike the pro-gay, pro-choice, quiet-about-religion John Kerry.

I tried to talk to Lily (a minimum wage worker and Republican from Oklahoma) about these issues and she looked at me as if I was a Martian. "Oh no, that's communism, honey," she said about even the most moderate social democratic policies.

Lily's gaze has been distracted by a colourful flag and a cross, while the welfare state designed to protect her has been trashed and the already-rich have been handed the proceeds.

The Bush posse aren't going to do any of the things Lily wants. They won't criminalise abortion and homosexuality or start censoring "the tide of atheism and porn" coming from Hollywood; they have chosen these issues precisely because they are politically impossible. They guarantee a handy source of pro-Republican evangelical rage until kingdom come.

When will women like Lily - travelling back to her $7-an-hour job as you read this - realise they've been had?

By polling day, hope the people of the world, but it's not looking likely.

Every dog has its day

2004-09-09T18:48:00.000+01:00

Money won is twice as sweet as money earned.

So they say, and so it proved on Tuesday evening when I emerged from a work outing to Wimbledon dog track as tipster par excellence.

I was doing the old forecast reverses: you pick two dogs to come first and second in any order. It's obviously trickier to predict than a straightforward win or place - unless you have my innate feel for the form and betting trends - but that means that for a relatively small stake you can get a decent return.

I had three wins - the dogs that did it for me were, if I remember correctly, Nans Boys and Smooth Martin in Race Seven, Four Handed and Cloheena Spiral in Race Eight, and Bonville Fred and Closing Bell in Race Ten. Good work, fellas. Anyway, that earned me more than £30, which means I finished well up (a blessed result, a week from pay day), even including the £8 "6 Pack Party Deal" entry ticket.

Ah yes, the "6 Pack Party Deal". Billing it as "fast, fun, furious... the ultimate group night out!" may be cause for Advertising Standards Authority intervention, but it's always interesting to get a look at those further back in the evolutionary chain in a non-threatening environment. My colleague Marcus's assertion that I was the poshest person there was confirmed when the staff at the Tote began calling me, "Squire".

Mission statement

2004-09-07T14:44:00.000+01:00

There comes a time in a man's life where he has to take stock, identify what he wants out of life and figure out how to go about achieving it. This particular bout of introspection may not be totally unrelated to the passing of my 31st birthday yesterday but regardless of what has prompted it, the critical thing is to act upon it.

I intend, therefore, for my 32nd year to be marked by a grand creative endeavour. While I do not yet know the exact form this will take - novel, screenplay, impenetrable and critically-lauded volume of free verse - my quest for inspiration will be unfailing, and focused to take advantage of the latest scientific research on creativity.

Normal service resumed

2004-09-02T16:08:00.000+01:00

Which, of course, means pretty occasional.

I am, however, in the process of planning the consideration of the possibility of formulatiing a strategy to assess the chances of getting a PC at home, which rest assured would mean an instantly improved service.

For an explanation of why I have been incommunicado for the last week and a half though, I direct you, not for the first time, to the superior (at least in terms of regularity of posting) A bird's eye view blog.

While eight days in each others' company failed to exhaust conversation between TY and myself, we did find amusement in a game where you have to link any two actors using films they have starred in with any other actors.

For example, Roger Moore to Demi Moore as follows:

Roger Moore was in Boat Trip (2002) with Cuba Gooding Jr., who was in A Few Good Men (1992) with Demi Moore.

For tomorrow then, people:

1) Ewan McGregor to Sean Connery
2) Christian Slater to Halle Berry
3) Jake Gyllenhaal to Julia Roberts

In the event of a tie, the tie-break question is:

Using previous jobs or people he has worked with, link Clive Woodward to evidence that suggests he is even remotely qualified to run a Premiership football team.

Slacker

2004-08-19T13:46:00.000+01:00

My Avg Posts Per Week stat has again slipped to 1. Apologies. But since I tried to tutor you in the Way of the Boss, I have been busy:

Tracey and Adam's engagement party

More pictures from a splendid do here (how to pad out your own blog with someone else's hard work.) Not sure the "Lynndies" are in terribly good taste, and that it was somebody else's idea first is obviously no defence.

Golfing in Suffolk
For the first (and probably last) outing on to the links of 2004, I thought it wise to seek some advice beforehand from an expert. In the absence of one of those, Miss Katie Smith offered this guidance for the par 5 fifth: "I'd say use a five wood to generate some height on what is clearly going to be a tricky manaeovre (sic)." Came home in 56 for nine holes. Enough, though, to see off the challenge of Geoff "We won't count those shots" Hazlewood. To his credit, the anguish of defeat did not prevent him rustling up two different paellas - one pregnant woman-friendly, one not, both excellent - on the barbecue that evening.

Welcoming transatlantic guest
I am delighted to welcome Miss Kelly Taffe, of the Charlottesville, Virginia, Taffes, to Brockley Towers. Post-working at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, pre-working with British schoolgirls in Croydon teaching them lacrosse, she is sampling the poorly-ventilated, infrequently-dusted and hoovered (that's "vacuumed" to her, I guess) delights of my flat for three nights. And it's a pleasure to have her. The Taffes, by the way, offer the best Thanksgiving dinner on the US's eastern seaboard. Do stop in if you're passing, they'd love to have you.

Why he's the Boss

2004-08-06T14:37:00.000+01:00

"The stakes have risen too high to sit this election out."

I read today that Bruce Springsteen is leading a bunch of American musicians on the Vote for Change tour, taking in the key battlefield states in the run-up to the US presidential election, with the hope of helping turn the vote in favour of Democrat John Kerry.

"I felt like I couldn't have written the music I've written, and been on stage singing about the things that I've sung about for the last twenty five years, and not take part in this particular election."

Bruce is an often grossly misunderstood artist - Ronald Reagan's adoption of "Born in the USA" as a pro-American anthem being the classic example. Read the lyrics, for God's sake.

But for people who get past the fist-pumping stadium Bruce misconception (though he can be that guy as well), and really connect with his work, he is the most inspiring artist.

His work is really about something, which I will crudely summarise as the everyday heroism in ordinary people's struggle to lead decent lives (but far better than make do with that, go listen to his records.) Add to that the dedication and plain sweat he puts into his three-hour live shows out of a determination not to disappoint a single fan... well, you've got to admire the man.

The problem with heroes though, is that they generally fall short of the worshipper's view of them. I've long thought and felt that would not be the case with Bruce. To my mind this tour shows that the message in his songs all these years, he means every word. And is prepared to back them up with action.

Will this tour make a difference to the election result? Who knows, but that doesn't make it any less impressive and inspiring that Bruce and the other artists involved are prepared to try.

His website features a genuinely stirring New York Times article, in which Bruce explains why he is taking part. It is well worth a read.

"We dived headlong into an unneccessary war in Iraq, we ran record deficits, we granted tax cuts to the richest 1 per cent (corporate bigwigs, well-to-do guitar players), increasing the division of wealth that threatens to destroy our social contract with one another."

That's why he's the Boss.

A thousand words

2004-08-04T12:01:00.000+01:00

... a picture speaks. So, I'm going to keep it brief today and just show off my new photo-hosting skills.

Here's my parents and me at the Wallace Monument, in Stirling, Scotland:

Here's me and assorted pals in New York in the early hours of New Year's Day 2004:

And here's the woman against whom I've just had to take out a restraining order*:

Also, you may have noticed that this site manages to offer ads, at the top of the page, in some way connected with the content of postings. Mention weddings, for instance, and it will link to suit hire sites. But let's see exactly what they're made of.

Water pistol... haircut... catamaran... Google.

That'll keep 'em on their toes.

* My legal team have instructed me to point out this is a joke.

'Frisbee' Chris and 'Big, Bad, Battling' Bob engaged

2004-08-03T11:18:00.000+01:00

Not to each other mind. Oh me, my, no. That would never work; Chris is out of Bob's league.

Anyhoo, that's five weddings (and counting) for 2005. I hope to be at three of the stag weekends as well (it's probably unrealistic to aim to get to the US both for Chris's stag and for his wedding to Gina. That said, UK-based Frisbee Chris is planning a stag weekend and a stag skiing week!) So what with stag/wedding travel, accommodation, entertainment and gift costs, and the time involved, that'll be most of 2005's disposable income and holiday allowance taken care of.

I don't begrudge it, but I suspect gift value could diminish as the year progresses. Get down the aisle before July then, if you want that fish kettle.

In a not unrelated item, I was sat outside Moonbow Jakes, Brockley Road, last Friday afternoon, working my way through four bottles of Budvar and a few pages of Ed Smith's 'On and Off the Field', when a guy came out pushing his young daughter in a pushchair.

"Sitting in the sun, drinking a beer and reading a book - I've forgotten what that's like," he said.

"Eighteen years and you'll be doing it again," I said.

"No. She wants a brother."

Don't get me wrong, I definitely do want marriage and a family - I just can't seem to be in any hurry about it.

Sam Peckinpah directs

2004-07-28T18:22:00.000+01:00

The weekend's exertions (20 miles in a day remember, Glasbury to Preston-on-Wye) demanded a quiet night last night.

I finished reading 'Dead Air' by Iain Banks when I got in. It had been recommended by my father, who had likened me to the ranting main character (It's been years now since Stella has passed my lips, Dad.) Anyway, it's pretty good. An intelligent thriller, I guess, though I appreciate that description could put anybody off. Certainly, the fastest 400-plus pages I've rattled through in a while (I'm in the anti-Harry Potter camp, you see. Call me a "muggle" if you like.)

Morroccan chicken for tea - pretty tasty once I'd scraped the suspicious growths off the top of the homemade harissa that's been sitting in the fridge for a fortnight. (How's about that ladies? Make my own Morroccan mayonnaise - what a catch!)

Then settled down to watch 'The Shield' which I had taped while away on the Wye. Anyone who's not yet checked out the best American drama on TV (terrestrial, that is - you satellite boys have got plenty West Wings and 24s to keep you busy) - which of course makes it the best drama on TV, "period" - well do so. Channel Five, Saturday nights. As Empire magazine might say: "Like 'Dixon of Dock Green' directed by Sam Peckinpah."

Wye, oh Wye

2004-07-27T09:37:00.000+01:00

Just back from three days canoeing on the River Wye with Frisbee Chris, including a monster first-day leg of more than 20 miles from Glasbury to Preston-on-Wye. Bear in mind that the company we hired canoe, tent and stove from advise inexperienced canoeists (which we were, though of course we're old pros now) against attempting more than 10-15 miles in a day. Still, we prepared sensibly by enjoying a lock-in at Glasbury's Hollybush Inn until 1am the night before.

Leg two took us to Hereford. Leg three to Holme Lacy. And a mightily impressive total journey of 39.05 miles.

What we learned: 1) the guy at the front of the canoe shouldn't try to steer; 2) swans are quick to anger; 3) it's worth calling campsites in advance to ensure they are still in business; 4) it's worth not calling campsites in advance if you fancy a night of relative luxury in a Travel Inn; 5) it's easy to completely miss Hay-on-Wye from the river.

And another thing, which I know is a cliche, but aren't country folk nice? After asking Farmer Price in Preston where the village shop was, in the hope of getting some brekkie for the next day, he said it was four miles away but he'd dig us out some stuff himself. He showed up at 9am the next day bearing bread, cornflakes, weetabix, eggs, milk and tea bags (he'd even had to go to the shop himself for the milk). Then in Holme Lacy, having arrived at our pick-up point two hours ahead of schedule, we enquired at the campsite reception where the nearest pub was. We were told it was more than a mile away, then an old chap staying at the site offered to run us up there. He stopped off at a paper shop en route for us, then asked us what time we wanted collected in order to get back to our pick-up point.

Don't get me wrong though, it's still good to be back among the scrotes and sirens of our capital.

And finally, on a male competitiveness note, while the honours were probably even between Chris and me on the canoeing, and he triumphed in the stone-skimming, my victories at pool and Petanque surely make me 2004 Wye Valley Three-Day Quadrathlon champion.

"I'd like to thank my Mum and Dad, whose unwavering support, etc. etc."

That foggy feeling

2004-07-13T15:44:00.000+01:00

The announcement of two more friends' engagement reminds me of my favourite gag at a wedding ever: the Best Man suggested in his speech that the Bride deserved a medal for being with the Groom, and one of the guests instantly shot back, "Yeah, bronze." I laughed hard, while cursing that I hadn't thought of it myself.

Anyway...

Beers drunk: approx. 10
PLE (positive London experiences): 2
NLE (negative London experiences): 0
LED (London experience differential): +2

I'm not sure yesterday's first PLE actually qualifies, because it was an almost archetypal English village scene - watching cricket and drinking beer on a warm and occasionally sunny evening, Medieval church in the background. However, it was in London, and since I found myself stood next to Rugby World Cup hero Richard Hill at the bar, I'm counting it. Given the size of Premiership rugby grounds you can get very close to the players, but there is still something exciting about seeing them out of that environment, in civvies, etc. For his part, he seemed to be enjoying himself, with a pint of lager in each hand throughout. Pre-season training's going to hurt.

Anyway, it was Middlesex v Essex in a Twenty20 game at Southgate, watched by myself and three current or former colleagues, who for "amusing office banter" reasons must be referred to as Wolo, Bello and Panko. Of course, there were several hundred other people there too, but I didn't get their names. The game saw a few majestic fours, two or three sixes, some terrific catches, and one or two ghastly drops that brought back distressing memories of my rugby Full Back days, with Middlesex eventually winning by nine wickets.

PLE #2 involved drinking in Soho until 3am, at which point Wolo bailed, despite attempts by Bello and me to rugby tackle him (Hillo himself would have been more than a little intimidated), followed by a pretty decent Chinese meal (although the reliability of my taste buds at that stage must be deemed suspect) in Chinatown. Fifteen-pound minicab home, then a pretty foggy feeling all day today.

On to business matters now, all of you who have emailed me to complain about being unable to post comments (and a lovely email it was too), you are able to (the IT-savvy Miss Wye certainly has, deeply offensive though they may be). Just click on 'comments' below.

On the video: Curb Your Enthusiasm

Compromising my art

2004-07-12T02:49:00.000+01:00

There may be clues here as to why I can't make relationships last, but just two posts into my fledgling blog career and I'm already starting to lose patience with this website.

See, I wanted to get started and get something up, imagining there would be no problem going back and making changes later. Not so, dear reader(s). For instance, my widely-celebrated first post originally had all the "Beers drunk, etc." nonsense at the top, until I saw that was all that was appearing on the Profile page, which whets the appetite with the first few lines of the most recent posts. So I reordered it. Distressingly, while the changes are evident when you go into the post, the Profile page is unchanged.

Bizarrely though, my decision to drop my original display name of Stevester for the inspired alternative, Steve, is evident on the Profile page but NOT in the sidebar when you go into a specific post.

Two questions, then: Who's running the show here? And secondly, is a blog about the petty frustrations of writing a blog in any way interesting to anyone under any circumstances whatsoever? Answers on a postcard. Or an email (if this two-bit website actually manages to process my request to accept emails).

One thing I have managed to successfully do though, is put a link on the left to the blog of my great friend, The WyeBird (best spinachy eggs inside the M25 - perhaps she'll post the recipe?). Anyway I'm pleased with that, since I suspect we are likely to make up a significant portion of each others' readership.

The next task: trying to get a photo on here. Don't ever say I don't try to push the boundaries for you people.

Running late

2004-07-10T22:47:00.000+01:00

Night shifts normally destroy any chance of a social life, but I decided to be a man of action today regardless. Get out there. Mix it up. Give it the 'big 'un'. Have it 'large'. So it was the 16.57 Chiltern Railways train from Marylebone to Chorleywood, Buckinghamshire, for me. A BBQ at James and Helen's, whose daughter I am godfather (should that have a capital 'g'?) to (for which I had to renounce the Devil, no less.) Was all geared up to offer life advice to young Eleanor, but the 15-month-old wasn't interested (she clearly has her father's blind self-confidence), so I amused myself with the Tomy Bashing Stick 2000.

The now pox-free Eleanor did get a bit tearful at one point though, and when I asked what the problem was, she said: "Daddy." Admittedly he was nowhere in sight and it's the only word she can nail with any regularity right now, but I suspect she'll make the same complaint many times over the coming years.

Things I learned: one, friends Nick and Lizzie have had a second child (seven months ago apparently, so my newsgathering skills are functioning as normal); two, friends Justine and Clare are expecting a second; three, friends of friends Nick and Hannah have had their first; four, my life is running about five years behind my peers'.

Beers drunk: 1
DVDs watched: 0
PLE (positive London experiences): 0
NLE (negative London experiences): 0
LED (London experience differential): 0
EPA (entirely pointless acronyms): 3

On the CD player: Bruce Springsteen, 'Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ', Johnny Cash, 'The Man Comes Around', Ed Harcourt, 'Here Be Monsters'.