A Good Time, Guaranteed

Good to see that Richard Williams appears to be back in full flow over at thebluemoment.com. His great post on Stan Tracey's suite Under Milkwood served as a reminder that I really need to give my CD thereof a spin and that this coming Sunday would be the perfect time to do so.

By the way, if you've never opened your ears to England's greatest ever jazz pianist (Keith Tippett, notwithstanding, though a very close second) now is the time to do so. Your ears will never be quite the same again, I guarantee.

(Just thought - it should be Under Milk Wood, shouldn't it? And another thought - the title of Thomas's brilliant radio drama is the only thing about it I don't quite like.)

Enjoying Every Word

I was rushing a wee bit late yesterday when I posted on Flashman and the Angel of the Lord. So after skimming through a few pages of dialogue in search of Fraser's wonderful phonetic version of New Orleans and not being able to find it I lazily settled for what I thought I remembered. That version sounded pretty good and amused me, so I used it thinking I might just find the time to check again today and correct.

It turns out I was pleasingly pretty darned wrong - pleasing in the sense that (of course!) the real thing was much better.

So I now give you: N'awlins - which makes me stifle a chuckle even as I type it.

Enjoying Every Minute

Carved out a bit of time over the weekend to make gloriously slow progress on my on-going Flashman novel. And what's so glorious about reading Fraser's work slowly? The fact you get the chance to relish every nuance of his brilliant stylistic confections, that's what. 

I don't think I quite grasped this on my first reading of the series as it was being published. At that time I was keen to enjoy the sheer verve of the narrative and really needed to know what was going to happen next. Now I sort of know, though I've managed to forget the intricacies of plotting, of which there are many, as I usually do. Back then I found some of the dialogue a touch hard-going, especially when Fraser is 'doing' a voice. Interestingly a lot of modern-day readers find the likes of Kipling and Hardy (when he's doing his Wessex yokels) tiresome in this regard. But this is to miss the essential democratisation of the language that is going on. Rendering the accent is as much an act of homage as it is an act of demarcation from the 'standard'. And in Fraser's case huge fun is to had from his sheer enjoyment of what his characters do to the language in their enhanced mangling of it.

My favourite so far: Nawleans, in itself a kind of poetic tribute to that great city.

Not Quite So Grumpy

Okay, sorry about this, but one last thing regarding the crowning of the king back in GB, or whatever my country names itself as these days. I suppose I should make at least a small attempt to understand those who think that paying attention to the whole coronation shebang was somehow a reasonable thing to do. And since one of those holding that point of view is the inestimable Nick Cave (of 'and the Bad Seeds' fame) I've made a bit of an effort in that direction.

Now I'm a big fan of Mr Cave's wonderful Red Hand Files so reading his typically wise reflections on why he attended as part of the Australian delegation to the big show was no chore. And it makes for an interesting read. But on this one we'll have to agree to disagree since I'm right and he's wrong. I mean, I get the idea of being drawn to... the bizarre, the uncanny, the stupefyingly spectacular, the awe-inspiring, but the coronation was just pointlessly expensive and, well, pointless.

Feeling Grumpier

I wrote yesterday that I wouldn't say any more about the coronation. But I'm going to break my promise. Actually I've successfully avoided watching anything on the news to do with any of it, but I couldn't avoid the article in the Graun online about locking up protestors. Unbelievable.

Makes me half wish I were there just to get sent-down myself. Worth getting banged-up for. 

Not my King, definitely - and that's over and out and finished.

Feeling Grumpy

Despite the heading above I've been in a good mood throughout the day, helped on by the fact that my aching head of yesterday seems to have healed itself and work went flowingly - especially at the creative end of things with our drama guys in the afternoon. Also managed to share a nice cuppa with the Missus in the very early evening - always a mood enhancer. However, I'm afraid grumpiness did descend, and abruptly so, at 9.15 pm, provoked by my switching on the telly to watch a bit of news.

Gentle Reader, I'm sure you'll understand me when I tell you that being confronted by BBC World, Sky News and CNN all covering the coronation (even before the darn thing has actually happened) through live coverage (of the gushing variety) of a royal walkabout not only failed to excite me but almost brought back my aching head of the previous day. Fortunately I showed remarkable forbearance by not actually throwing an object at the offending goggle-box. I also resisted the temptation to switch over to Fox News (a statement I would have thought myself incapable of writing prior to the moment in question.)

I'm not looking forward to tomorrow when, if I'm not mistaken, though I could be since I'm trying to keep away from this nonsense, they finally put the big tiara, or whatever it is, on the head of the new monarch of my benighted nation. By the way, I henceforth intend to avoid any further reference to this business. Just to let you know.

Aches & Pains

Needed to deal with an unpleasantly aching head from the early morning. And it got worse, steadily so. Managed to keep going, but it was a close run thing.

Up Close

It's been a while since I've felt genuine involvement in a sport. Of course, I enjoy footy through the screen and sometimes almost forget the distance. But it's not like being on the terraces - or, better still, in action on the pitch. Today I found myself court-side for a game of basketball, not a game I'm that familiar with. Nevertheless I lost myself in the proceedings, entirely engrossed.

Odd, isn't it, that you can lose yourself in a game, sometimes in the sheer exuberant beauty of what's going on, in a similar way to losing yourself in the theatre? The kinship of Sport and Art is surely no accident. At the highest levels they're pretty much the same thing, I reckon.

Disconnections

Two random things from today.

We've now got twelve spots of light glowing on our Samsung television. It's distracting but occasionally enhances one's viewing.

Attended a full day workshop related to Character and Citizenship Education. Practised my active listening throughout - which served as a reminder of how incredibly difficult it is to listen to others when what they are saying is not exactly simpatico. 

Really should connect the above but am too lazy to bother to try.

Overdoing It

The restful long weekend, today being the public holiday for Labour Day, turned out to be pretty busy in a reasonably enjoyable manner. I wouldn't claim that keeping up with examination marking for IB was exactly fun, but I managed to fulfil the quotas I set for myself without over-agonising, and in-between enjoyed visitors from the Malaysian branch of the family, glad-handing at the wedding and seeing the newly-weds off from Changi Airport for their honeymoon in New Zealand.

This evening saw me rushing off to the gym after rushing back from the airport to give some feedback to a student over her extended essay. And it was at the gym, after some 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer, that I discovered I had pretty much no energy left at all. The last 10 minutes on the machine seemed to take 10 hours. But I somehow managed and got back to write this and then collapse. Sort of. Bye bye.