One of the penalties inherent in supporting the greatest football team in the world is that part of that greatness involves said team never doing anything easily. This has been demonstrated time and again this season and, of course, was always going to be a feature of our visit to the noisy neighbours.
I wasn't at all sure I was going to get to see any of the game as we on our way back to the Hall from Melaka at the appointed time, yesterday evening. In fact, I thought the game would be over by the time we got back. So it was with some little delight that I realised I was in time for the second half and we were already two up. And how that delight threatened to blossom further when Young netted again after RVP had hit the post! But as soon as the ref disallowed a perfectly good goal, the sense that it wasn't going to be that easy inevitably blossomed, confirmed doomily just moments later by City's first goal.
About five minutes later I was eerily reminded of the events of the last game(s) of last season when my Mio television service decided not to provide further service - despite the extortionate amount I have to pay for it. All I could do was turn to Sky News, on my Starhub service which doesn't freeze, but hasn't got the rights to the football, to get very sporadic updates to let me know we were still 2 - 1 up to the point that I couldn't take the pressure anymore and switched to the Malay channel so the Missus could watch something and I could pretend I really didn't care all that much about the result.
Once I judged it was all over I toddled off to the computer to check the final score, only to discover that soccernet.com was so bombarded by traffic at that point that the page took forever to load. Once I was able to view the result the sense of relief was powerful, along with the sensation that I had probably gained a fair number of additional grey hairs as a result of the experience of (not) watching the game.
Even viewing the replay today put me on edge, the final conclusive goal seeming quite unlikely given the run of play at that late stage of the game. Football, bloody hell, eh, as a wise manager once summed it all up.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Taking Note
By accident have read Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man again over the last couple of days. Originally I'd intended merely to check some of the notes in the edition we're using next year to teach the novel. I don't think I've ever read an edition before with notes - my most recent readings have been from the old Penguin Portable Joyce edited by Harry Levin - and whilst I don't think they are all that necessary for getting the gist of the text, they did add something to the texture of the novel for me. But the truth is that it doesn't take much to seduce me into any reading of the greatest of the Moderns, and I was more than happy to go from beginning to end.
I always seem to see something new when reading Portrait. This time round Stephen's observation of the birds flying in Chapter 5 and his semi-comic attempts to divine his future from them jumped out at me as it has never done before - especially his sense of uncertainty about that future. In fact, amongst the various 'nets' that Joyce (or Stephen, I suppose) avoids we might add a false sense of closure. Young men are notoriously unfinished, and this one had yet to meet his Nora and bloom.
I always seem to see something new when reading Portrait. This time round Stephen's observation of the birds flying in Chapter 5 and his semi-comic attempts to divine his future from them jumped out at me as it has never done before - especially his sense of uncertainty about that future. In fact, amongst the various 'nets' that Joyce (or Stephen, I suppose) avoids we might add a false sense of closure. Young men are notoriously unfinished, and this one had yet to meet his Nora and bloom.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Cleaning House
Our KL house is getting the finishing touches of its latest clean-up, with my redoubtable Missus leading the way, as is always the case - though I've contributed something to the operation, largely in the form of dealing with the books and various other small items. We're off south to Mak's house in a little while, though we'll be stopping off for Noi to get her feet 'scrubbed', a curious operation undertaken by her at an establishment at Times Square for reasons that, whilst probably perfectly valid, escape me.
Actually we've spent the year considering the need to fix or replace a good deal of the woodwork here, repaint the house, and re-lay the car porch. The house still looks good after some ten years of operation in its present incarnation, but it won't stay this way too much longer without a firm helping hand. The problem has been making time to see to all this. In fact, we've 'lived' here for less time this year than any previous, and our forthcoming trip to Australia will take us away at the time we would normally be in residence for the longest period.
I have a sense that we'll need to right the balance next year. I miss the birdsong.
Actually we've spent the year considering the need to fix or replace a good deal of the woodwork here, repaint the house, and re-lay the car porch. The house still looks good after some ten years of operation in its present incarnation, but it won't stay this way too much longer without a firm helping hand. The problem has been making time to see to all this. In fact, we've 'lived' here for less time this year than any previous, and our forthcoming trip to Australia will take us away at the time we would normally be in residence for the longest period.
I have a sense that we'll need to right the balance next year. I miss the birdsong.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Damage
Still on the subject of The Solitude of Prime Numbers and its main characters, part of the undoubted power and drive of the novel lies in its recognition of how easily people can be damaged. I suppose the obvious example is Mattio's twin sister who is literally retarded, but it's difficult to think of a single character depicted by Giordano who is recognisably normal. Even Fabio, initially presented as a rather suave, self-assured doctor seems to have some kind of odd need for Alice, who is clearly not an attractive young lady in the usual sense. The writer is particularly good at conveying how uneasy so many of his characters are in their own bodies - a defining trait of adolescence, well, for geeks like me at least.
In this respect the book seems to me to deal with an essential truth: people really are not normal. But in its intensity of vision I think it fails to recognise another truth: most people are very good at pretending to be normal, and somehow that's how most of us get through the day. In this respect humour helps enormously, and in retrospect I realise there wasn't much of that in the novel. Nor was it an obvious quality of The Garden of Evening Mists, the other novel I recently finished reading. I suppose that's why I never felt quite comfortable with either text, despite finding much to admire in both.
In this respect the book seems to me to deal with an essential truth: people really are not normal. But in its intensity of vision I think it fails to recognise another truth: most people are very good at pretending to be normal, and somehow that's how most of us get through the day. In this respect humour helps enormously, and in retrospect I realise there wasn't much of that in the novel. Nor was it an obvious quality of The Garden of Evening Mists, the other novel I recently finished reading. I suppose that's why I never felt quite comfortable with either text, despite finding much to admire in both.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Misfits
It took me a couple of days to read Paolo Giordano's The Solitude of Prime Numbers, one more than Fifi needed. In fact, I read the book because of Fifi. She bought it using the book tokens I got from doing the Lit Seminar this year, the first time she's picked something that might generally be seen as an adult work of fiction. I was intrigued by her choice at the time, and struck by her enthusiasm for the novel, so I borrowed it from her ahead of coming to KL. And now I must say I'm intrigued to ask her in more detail what she made of it.
I suppose that to some degree my response to the novel has been curiously coloured by the fact she read it first. In some ways it strikes me as something that teenagers would respond to, dealing as it does with two protagonists who seem very much stuck in adolescence, even at the conclusion of the story, by which time they'd be around thirty. The focus is very much on relationships, of various kinds. It outlines their rather miserable childhoods in sometimes painful detail - the girl is anorexic; the boy cuts his hands - and we're certainly made to feel for them as lonely outsiders. But there's also a sense of objectivity in their depiction and some very fine scenes dealing with a more obviously adult understanding of the world. (The final argument between the girl, Alice, and her husband, Fabio, is superbly done, and evokes sympathy for the husband in ways you would not expect from the early parts of the story dealing with Alice.)
Also I must admit I assumed that the story would end in the protagonists coming together - and they don't. That in itself demands a deeper reading. I find myself resisting any kind of leap to judgment on this one - except to say that being made to inhabit the worlds of others seems to me in itself a useful exercise, specially when those worlds are painful places.
I suppose that to some degree my response to the novel has been curiously coloured by the fact she read it first. In some ways it strikes me as something that teenagers would respond to, dealing as it does with two protagonists who seem very much stuck in adolescence, even at the conclusion of the story, by which time they'd be around thirty. The focus is very much on relationships, of various kinds. It outlines their rather miserable childhoods in sometimes painful detail - the girl is anorexic; the boy cuts his hands - and we're certainly made to feel for them as lonely outsiders. But there's also a sense of objectivity in their depiction and some very fine scenes dealing with a more obviously adult understanding of the world. (The final argument between the girl, Alice, and her husband, Fabio, is superbly done, and evokes sympathy for the husband in ways you would not expect from the early parts of the story dealing with Alice.)
Also I must admit I assumed that the story would end in the protagonists coming together - and they don't. That in itself demands a deeper reading. I find myself resisting any kind of leap to judgment on this one - except to say that being made to inhabit the worlds of others seems to me in itself a useful exercise, specially when those worlds are painful places.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
At The Doctor's
It's rare these days that Noi and I find ourselves going out of our way to watch a full series on the goggle box together. Even though we enjoy The Voice we're not so passionate that we can't bear to miss an episode or two. But we were determined to watch the episode of Doc Martin broadcast today on Granada (which we get here through the Astro system.) We are fairly sure it was the last episode in the current series (number 5, I think) and I reckon it might just be the end of the whole thing.
If so, it ended well. Very fine acting - Martin Clunes especially, of course - beautifully shot, well-scripted. A bit formulaic, but that was part of the charm. Very English. Sometimes a good quality.
If so, it ended well. Very fine acting - Martin Clunes especially, of course - beautifully shot, well-scripted. A bit formulaic, but that was part of the charm. Very English. Sometimes a good quality.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
On The Go
Now happily ensconced on the restaurant on the hill - using their internet connection actually - and looking forward to arrival at Maison KL once we get moving again. The roti prata (here known as roti canai for reasons that remain mysterious to me) was excellent and the teh tarik not bad at all. Above all, a journey entirely lacking in incident to celebrate.
The Missus is now moving to cleaning mode. I can see it in her eyes.
The Missus is now moving to cleaning mode. I can see it in her eyes.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Reconsidering
I feel I've been quite unnecessarily harsh in my comments in this Place on the last couple of books I finished. Mind you, I was only two-thirds into Tan Twan Eng's The Garden of Evening Mists when I criticised his protagonist, and the final third, in part detailing her experiences in a Japanese labour camp, goes a long way towards giving a full sense of the character as being psychologically convincing. And similarly with the general development of themes in the novel. I came to realise just how ambitious Mr Tan is in his exploration of the Japanese psyche and the art that derives from thence and I think he goes a long way to pulling off a quite remarkable analysis.
Similarly on reflection I've come to realise that what seem pretentious in Simon Reynolds's book on the postpunk era, and the behaviour of a number of the musicians involved, can also be interpreted as a refreshing attempt to break away from the mundane and routine offered by commercial interests. At the very least Reynolds is informative about what was going on in his chosen period in a way that I did find illuminating. The chapter on Talking Heads, to cite a single example, was really worth reading and quite a few of the points made have stuck in my mind. And the enthusiasm shown for the period is endearing; it's just that I find it hard to share some aspects of that enthusiasm.
I'm reminded of a simple truth: a full response takes time to develop and any writer deserves that. It's too easy to be glib and there are too many contexts in which there's a strong temptation to be so.
Similarly on reflection I've come to realise that what seem pretentious in Simon Reynolds's book on the postpunk era, and the behaviour of a number of the musicians involved, can also be interpreted as a refreshing attempt to break away from the mundane and routine offered by commercial interests. At the very least Reynolds is informative about what was going on in his chosen period in a way that I did find illuminating. The chapter on Talking Heads, to cite a single example, was really worth reading and quite a few of the points made have stuck in my mind. And the enthusiasm shown for the period is endearing; it's just that I find it hard to share some aspects of that enthusiasm.
I'm reminded of a simple truth: a full response takes time to develop and any writer deserves that. It's too easy to be glib and there are too many contexts in which there's a strong temptation to be so.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Crossing The Bar
What do you give to the woman who gives you everything worth having? Tricky one, eh?
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Health And (Un)Fitness
Went to my back doctor this morning and was delighted to be officially told what I already knew: the most problematic part of me isn't such a problem at the moment. I will continue to savour the delights of not taking any kind of medication.
Poor Noi, however, was feeling a bit under the weather today, partly because she was stung by a bee yesterday, and partly because she embarked on some stretches recommended by Karen over a rather jolly afternoon cup of tea at Parkway Parade also yesterday, and I think was feeling the after effects today. This is not to suggest there was any folly involved in the stretching, or Karen's advice. Far from it: the truth is we both need to get some exercise on a regular basis if we are to continue riding our good fortune as far as reasonably robust health is concerned.
Another reminder of this truth came in the obviously glowingly healthy shape of young Ian, who accompanied his mum to tea with us, and is something of an exercise nut, in the best possible sense. It was fascinating to hear him expound upon the benefits of what used to be known as calisthenics. But it all made me feel more than a little guilty.
Noi says we'll do lots of walking in Australia, where we intend to spend a couple of weeks later in December, so I suppose that'll make something of a start. A sorely needed one.
Poor Noi, however, was feeling a bit under the weather today, partly because she was stung by a bee yesterday, and partly because she embarked on some stretches recommended by Karen over a rather jolly afternoon cup of tea at Parkway Parade also yesterday, and I think was feeling the after effects today. This is not to suggest there was any folly involved in the stretching, or Karen's advice. Far from it: the truth is we both need to get some exercise on a regular basis if we are to continue riding our good fortune as far as reasonably robust health is concerned.
Another reminder of this truth came in the obviously glowingly healthy shape of young Ian, who accompanied his mum to tea with us, and is something of an exercise nut, in the best possible sense. It was fascinating to hear him expound upon the benefits of what used to be known as calisthenics. But it all made me feel more than a little guilty.
Noi says we'll do lots of walking in Australia, where we intend to spend a couple of weeks later in December, so I suppose that'll make something of a start. A sorely needed one.
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