Facebook and the Farmyard Game

A lot of my younger Facebook friends seem to play a weird game online – something to do with farm animals.  It seems to exercise their minds a great deal and there are odd comments on their pages saying things like so-and-so reports a pig in their farmyard.  Well, here are some for them:-

Mick Jagger/The Rolling Stones had a hit record about ‘a little red rooster’.

There’s a 60s film called ‘Poor Cow’.

There were ‘some pigs who were more equal than others’ in George Orwell’s Animal Farm – now I’m showing off my literary knowledge.

And now for a biblical quote, ‘all we like sheep have gone astray’ – can’t you tell I got RK A-level?

There’s a beer called ‘Speckled Hen’ and another called ‘the Dog’s B......s’, but my partner says I am becoming more and more foul-mouthed by the day so I’m not writing the word and there are plenty of ‘bores’ (boars) in pubs drinking said beer.

And while I’m on the subject of booze, there’s Bull’s Blood which is a wine from Hungary – well, it started there I am reliably informed by Wikipedia.

Mary had a little ‘lamb’ and many of us carnivores eat it with mint sauce.

People ‘duck and dive’ in business and I think they might in the farmyard game, but since I don’t play it …  And there’s the politically incorrect comment about someone suffering with  ‘duck’s disease’ being a short person who therefore has a ‘low-down bum’ who wipes out their footprints as they walk.

Then there’s the expression that someone’s ‘cooked their goose’ on the same lines as ‘shot their bolt’ or ‘made their bed and must therefore lie on it’ ….  and the ‘Goosie Goosie gander’ of nursery rhyme fame.

‘Turkey neck’ is to be avoided at all costs by those of us of a certain age.  I shudder at the thought of plastic surgery so cover mine up with pearls, beads or neck scarves.


And here's a picture of an animal you'd never see in a farmyard.

You used to hear about a ‘bull market’ and ‘bullish’ shares in the City, but those expressions are rarely heard these days given the state of the economy.

Some men have those horrible ‘goatee’ beards – I suppose leaping about like a ‘mountain goat’ doesn’t quite fit the farmyard criteria.

‘A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse’ – that’s another animal that no self-respecting farmer should be without.

And ‘cat’s eyes’ – most farms have cats to keep the rats down which suggests farms have rats – there’s that awful puppet-thing called Roland Rat, people ‘rat’ on each other – I don’t of course.

I reckon that covers most farmyards animals, so here you are Facebook Farmyard lovers – I put them all into your farmyard and hope that will finish the fatuous game.

After the Dance by Terence Rattigan

What a culture vulture I have been recently.  One Sunday a couple of weeks back, myself and partner attended After the Dance, a Terence Rattigan play, purported to be one of his best, but that had a short run mainly because of the start of the war.  Poor Terence Rattigan apparently took it as an indication that it was no good and didn’t even list the play with others.

Naturally, the play was dated, but I expected that.  The set was exquisite and the acting excellent.  I felt it captured what I understand to have been the desperation of the 30- something adults who missed the drama of the First World War but were disturbed or bored enough to try to pretend their lives were not empty, but fun, fun, fun!  They were the ‘bright young things’ of Evelyn Waugh’s time, but neither especially young nor bright as one of the characters said.

The main character was a rather shallow man in his 30s (David) who partied a lot and found things boring if he didn’t.  He was writing a historical book and had a male secretary (Peter), a poor relation, typing it up for him.  His wife was a party person too whose favourite phrase seemed to be ‘too boring’.

The story revolved around Peter’s girlfriend’s desire for David and his for her without concern for who they might hurt in fulfilling such desires. The young woman (Helen) didn’t appear to be at all worried about hurting Peter and both she and David assumed that his wife (Joan) would not be affected by their relationship and the required divorce.  Indeed, Joan showed no particular concern for their imminent divorce, blithely pretending that all was well.  The young woman was callously determined to have the older man and seemed unperturbed by the havoc their relationship would cause and indeed did.

The character who was most interesting was the sponging friend (John) who was staying with the couple and spent most of the time on stage interjecting remarks and generally being very funny.  In the end he showed himself to be remarkably astute in his estimation of all the characters and towards the end of the play advised David that he should not continue his new relationship with Helen, the young woman, because he would end up killing her as he had killed his wife.  It turned out that he had been in love with Joan and, presumably, once she was no longer there, had no desire to stay. It was just before he left that he gave the speech ending with, ‘but I don’t suppose you will’.

The audience were left hoping that he would ‘do the right thing’, but it wasn’t apparent that he would definitely do so.

I found the play illuminating, but one of my friends remarked that she couldn’t relate to any of the characters and therefore found it unsatisfactory.  I found Helen’s desire for David showed the selfishness and callousness of the young and wondered if I would have behaved as badly had I been in a similar situation, but found David not entirely shallow and his wife playing a part being almost a play within a play.  I particularly enjoyed the part of John the way that, as an onlooker, he had the most insight into all the characters.

                                                                                                   

Crosby, Stills & Nash at the Albert Hall

Yes, I am still an old hippy at heart and finding out Crosby, Stills & Nash were on at the Albert Hall and having a friend willing to treat me – well, how could I not?

The evening started off badly – the traffic was so heavy that we got a taxi from The Strand.  I bet we would still have been sitting on the Number 9 bus now if we hadn’t.  Don’t know what was wrong, but it was Gay Pride Day so perhaps some of the traffic was the revelers heading home.  Actually, it was a relief not to go on the bus – the temperature was still in the 80s and buses don’t have air conditioning.

Once at the Albert Hall there was the inevitable queue for the loo, but I made it.  It is always impressive the way English women politely queue for the loo – I have seen French women, bored with queuing, march into the Gents and go into a cubicle, presumably ignoring the line of male backs.  While admiring their chutzpa I am not sure I can emulate it.

Once in the Albert Hall, the trio mounted the stage, without zimmer frames or walking sticks – actually, they seemed much the same as in the 70’s, just fatter and greyer and none of them were bald unless of course they were wearing wigs.  I was very disappointed at the start of the concert – they played the (to me) beautiful, sweet, soulful numbers such as Marrakesh Express as if they were a rock band.  I barely recognized some of them.  I wondered if the person managing the sound had got it wrong, but the Albert Hall are used to all manner of music so I don’t think it could have been that.  I was uncomfortable to find my ears ringing and my bottle of water visibly vibrating when I took a sip. Maybe it is just me and they always were more rock and roll and it was just their studio records that were quiet and melodic.  My friend did say that he had heard them sing at Glastonbury (on the TV, I hasten to add) and that they were much quieter then.

I was mesmerized by Crosbie’s antics on stage – he was unable to keep still and shuffled about in a parody of a young rock star, but let’s be charitable; perhaps he suffers from ‘Restless Leg Syndrome’ – yes it is a medical condition and I should know, I spent enough time as a medical secretary.  He leapt into the air at one point (only a few inches off the ground) but given his great age, I anxiously wondered if he might have to be stretchered off with a broken knee-cap or hip.

After the interval the music was much quieter and more soulful – just the three of them without drums or keyboard.  They played a new number which was lovely and sang three or four of their melodic, beautiful hits from long ago.  Then Graham Nash played keyboard and sang, but again it was much too loud and I felt cheated.

They sang some cover versions of songs that they are hoping to put on their newest ‘record’ – Norwegian Wood was fine, but the Bob Dylan one was embarrassingly awful – they should have gone with one of his simpler songs.

Towards the end of the concert the loud rock sound began again and most of the music was unrecognizable, then it was the two encores – one I thought was ruined by the volume, but the second, though loud, was more palatable.

I saw Ray Davies at the O² and that sound was brilliant, so perhaps I need to concentrate on (mainly) single performers.  My ex-husband saw Neil Young at The Fridge several years ago and he said he was fantastic – single singer and smaller venue; perhaps I need to concentrate on them more.

I know it is more than likely due to my great age, but I find the whooping and ‘yip yip yip’ noises from audiences rather irritating – they sound as if they’re riding to hounds and, let’s face it, all but a few people these days admit to enjoying hunting, so why make a noise that sounds as if you do?

Noticed a few ’women of a certain age’ (as indeed I am) standing up dancing in what I would call an ‘embarrassing way’ (you hear children at family parties begging their parents not to dance sometimes).  I think those women wouldn’t have danced ‘like that’ had children been with them, but then … why not?  After all, if a geriatric Crosbie can prance around like a teenager (well, sort of) why not women?

Coming home the traffic was still unbelievably congested and I walked much of the way back.  Central London is a fairly benign place on a summer night and I only felt  a little alarmed when one of a trio of teenage girls threw a glass at the other two who were several yards in front of her, as was I, so it could have been aimed at me!  Deciding discretion the better part of valour (even being hit mistakenly didn’t seem much fun) I hurried off stage right and got home unscathed.

Slogans and ‘cool’ phrases

Walking down The Cut recently, I spotted a young man sporting a t-shirt with the words, ‘I make beautiful babies’ emblazoned on his chest.  I pondered on this for a while and then thought what a ridiculous but quite possibly truthful boast.  For a good-looking man with an average or high sperm count, it is easy to father babies (perhaps even beautiful ones), although that is largely down to genetics/luck), but that doesn’t mean he can actually bring them up (that takes a real man! usually with the help of a woman!  Of course an arrogant so and so like this man might not stand a chance – would you ‘bother’ fellow-woman?

 I thought perhaps, as a woman past her prime, it would be worth me wearing a t-shirt with the slogan ‘I can’t bear children’ on it, but as I rather like them it wouldn’t do much for my street cred.   My partner often says, when asked if he likes children, ‘Yes, but I can’t manage more than one at a time’.

Can’t bear the slogans like ‘Slut’ or ‘I’m a virgin’ which I find odd in the extreme – are they boasting or complaining?  These are very much on a par with the signs on cars saying ‘baby on board’ – same question applies.  I have seen signs on cars saying, ‘if you can read this sign, you are too close’ and wonder how many accidents happen and is it one of those insurance scams?  I find myself rather offended by the ‘Little Monster on board’ comments rather worrying – who would want to admit that their child is one, even if they are?

And now to the ‘in’ phrases – ‘see you later’ from a complete stranger with whom you have exchanged a few words such as ‘where is …’ or ‘turn left, right …’ etc.  The chances of you seeing that person ever again, let alone ‘later’ is negligible so why ….?

‘No problem’ used to be an expression of note – it usually meant, ‘I’ll do it when I feel like it, you tosser – stop hassling me!’ or even ‘I’ve no intention of doing it at all, but haven’t the heart or the honesty to admit it’.

Then there was ‘groovy’ which was around when half the population were either on acid or smoking ‘herbal substances’ in the 60s/70s.  It had a brief resurgence in the 80s I think, probably when half the population were on Ecstasy which seemed to spawn a number of gurning, dancing idiots – still, better than fighting, something which happened quite frequently in nightclubs before its advent. 

That is 'so cool’ is another expression (probably uncool by now) and I have penned a few lines about it in a poem:-

Cool

What do you mean, ‘cool’

The mother said, frowning

I’m not such a fool

So please stop your clowning.

It’s quite warm today

So cool isn’t right

It means it’s in fashion

Her son said with might

And considerable passion.

She still didn’t get it

And wondered for hours

Shook her head for a bit

Then planted some flowers.

Musings on elephants and failure

I have failed at my intention to photograph the 260 elephants scattered all over London - (spotted one at the Elephant and Castle as I passed by on a bus to Camberwell today).  My excuse is that I hadn’t realized that they were going to be moved today to various places – I understand there are to be elephant ‘parades’ at the new shopping centre in Shepherd’s Bush and the Royal Chelsea Hospital, so maybe I can redeem myself there.  Trouble is there will probably be masses of people and the elephants may be all mixed up so that I won’t know which ones I have photographed.  Ah well – nobody forced me to decide to photograph them all so the failure is all my own.  Anyway, I hope to put a slide show on my blog of the ones I have got as soon as I have worked out how to do it!  But here's a picture of another two elephant until I manage that.

Thinking about failure – I attended a course last year called ‘Fear of Failure’ which was far more interesting than I had anticipated.  Indeed I still have a little notice over my desk saying, ‘There is no failure; only feedback’ which I took back from it.  We (that is those of us on the course) came to the conclusion that we often don’t attempt something because of our fear of failure/being laughed at or scorned.

 Looking back over my childhood I remember not seriously trying at sport, for instance, because my older brother and sister were so good and I might not be … Interestingly, my younger sister told me than an English teacher she was taught by a couple of years after me told her that I was brilliant at English, the implication being that he expected much the same of her. (Why didn’t teachers then seem to understand the psychology of those who, far from being pushed to succeed by such behaviour, might not even try!)  Perhaps I am unusually stubborn, but I don’t like being compared with other people, especially not other members of my family.  We all have our strengths and our weaknesses – we are just different!!!

Birthday Blogging Blues

It was my birthday recently and suffice it to say that I way past 40.  As I grow older I find birthdays lose their significance and I don’t bother celebrating them quite so much.  In fact, I am looking forward to getting my Freedom Pass in the not too distant future – how sad is that?  Still, at least nobody can say ‘she doesn’t get out much …’ because I do – why would I be longing for the Freedom Pass otherwise?  I only hope the government doesn’t axe them before then – if they do I can see a silver-surfers rebellion on mobility scooters .  It’s enough that those of us born after 1950 are going to have to work beyond 60 to get their pension; in fact, there might not even be a pension by the time we get there.  Actually, given the money I owe, I can’t see myself retiring much before 75 anyway.

Spent the morning lazing about – partner got the breakfast and then we lay about reading the paper and generally taking it easy.  Thought we were not going to do anything, but he suggested a meal and the film Avatar – we’re close to the IMAX which, allegedly, has the biggest screen in the country. 

The meal was lovely (local restaurant so we were assured of a good one) and the film – well, I was gobsmacked.  It was fantastic – the special effects were brilliant and even the story, if a little corny, was good - I do like a bit of romance.  There were times when it felt like we were moving and I felt a little seasick; perhaps they should have provided sick-bags as well as 3D glasses. 

Maybe one day there will be a cover they can put over the screen so that you don’t have to wear the 3D glasses which make everyone look a bit like a poor relation of Elton John in his flamboyant days.  Thought my glasses had a dirty mark on them but discovered that wasn’t so once the film started – I had just tried them on too early.
 

Found it a bit noisy at times – my ears are not really attuned to our loud world, but that was my only complaint.  It was awesome and I particularly loved some tiny little blossoming things like dandelion blooms in bubbles which were an indication of the spiritual beliefs of the ‘blue people’ for want of a better word.  I liked humankind being called the ‘Sky people’ as a race who brought devastation from the skies.  Did wonder about the blue’s sex life as they didn’t appear to have any genitals and I assumed love to be a spiritual kind ‘I see you’ being their pillow-talk, but there were babies and if they had them with as little trouble and mess as they seemed to have sex – well, I’m all for it.   My partner said it was typical of me to think of something so basic, but then considering he made up a disgusting limerick with the ‘c’ word in it on the way home I don’t think he has any room to talk.

I’ve written a rather crap blues poem – set to music it might sound OK; after all, lots of blues don’t say much more than this.  Just imagine the piano/guitar riffs – I long to get good enough on piano to play blues!

Birthday Blues

I got the Birthday Blues

Can’t fasten my shoes

Cos I can’t bend enough

And I get out of puff

Got the Birthday Blues

Can’t even booze

Any more

Frightful bore

I just fall asleep

In a messy heap.

B

Carmen and more elephants

There should have been a photo of Trafalgar Square here in celebration of my amazing cultural evening but I forgot my camera, so here's a photo I just like.

From the (almost) ridiculous to the sublime.  On Monday I was seeking elephants to photograph, Tuesday night I was watching Carmen – amazingly a free viewing in Trafalgar Square where the opera was transmitted direct from the Opera  House to the big screen erected between the lions.  I hadn’t seen Carmen before and was absolutely transfixed.  It was fantastic!  I hadn’t realized how much of the music I knew, such as Toreador and others – someone said a lot of it has been used in adverts on TV.

It was warm at 7 when the choirmaster from that TV programme about getting people to join and/or start choirs locally, persuaded us all to join in and sing Toreador in English.  Somehow it doesn’t sound quite so sexy in English, but it was great seeing the public (especially the normally reticent English) singing with gusto.  He has such enthusiasm and charisma to manage that.  One of the spectators sporting a red flower behind one ear said she had come because it was free and she knew it was about gypsies – a synopsis of the reasons most people came I think.

Got rather colder as the evening wore on and I bought soup for myself and two companions in the interval – we had a bottle of wine too so were in ‘good spirits’.  We had to pour the wine into a plastic jug and use plastic cups to drink it – I suppose they were afraid of damage and/or violence.

The event was sponsored by BP but they were very low-key about it, perhaps because they are very unpopular just now.  There were no baseball hats, plastic macs or cushions handed out this time.  They are probably too expensive to provide now given the expense of trying to clear up the disastrous oil spillage.

Because I live in central London I was able to walk both there and back and because I was quite chilly by the time it finished, I walked/ran home with my disabled friend trying to keep up with her rather sophisticated scooter – no little runaround that only does 3 miles an hour!  Hers is called a  tramper and she rides it as if she’s a queen.  If she had whips and knives she could be a Cleopatra.  As it is, she makes do with calling out ‘excuse me darling’ as passers-by scatter in her wake.   I told her she could be the pacer for someone in practice for races.

Then we come to the elephants – on Monday afternoon I started out with the map I had downloaded from the internet allegedly showing the whereabouts of them all.  It is not exactly accurate and has clumps of elephants marked in one spot when they are in fact far more scattered.  Anyway, I found a small group in St James’ Park and two much larger groups in Green Park, including one on the pavement near the tube station.  All in all, I must have photographed about 20 and with the 15 I did a few days ago near the Mayor’s gaff, that makes 35 – only another 225 to go.  Perhaps I need to co-opt my partner in my project – there is a limited time, because the elephants are going to be taken away in July.  I wonder what they will do to them all – they would take up a lot of space if kept together.  Maybe they will let each company have the ones that they ‘bought’ or sponsored.

I was disappointed to find, predictably of course, that I was not the only person determined to find/photograph all the elephants and a diverse lot they were – a young business woman, a pensioner and a young (professional?) photographer with a very sophisticated camera - not trainspotter types at all, although I may have been wearing an anorak (no, it was a yachtie jacket – not that I have a yacht, but that’s another story).  I don’t mind having pictures with children on or by the elephants or adults looking/ stroking them etc., but people tend to get out of the way often when they see me with my camera or maybe I look scary!!!  Of course, there is a lot of anxiety around strangers taking pictures of children, but I don’t think any of us constituted any harm.  For a start, most of the children will be unrecognizable given the distance you need to stand to get the whole elephant in focus.

One of the best things about the elephant invasion is the conversations that spring up between complete strangers.  We Londoners are not the most talkative of people (not because we’re unfriendly so much as there are more nutters to the square inch in a big city) so we are cautious.  Anyway, in my quest I have talked with other photographers, children (parents in toe of course), businessmen, professionals, homeless people etc.

Oh well ONLY ANOTHER 125 TO GO!!!!!  Below this I have put a photo of a few elephants just to remind me (and anyone reading this blog in the blogosphere) of their amazing  explosion into London.