Bleeding obvious offends irresponsible spendthrifts

This week, Christine Lagarde, current chief of the International Monetary Fund, has prompted a surge of ranting on Facebook with her "insulting" suggestions that the Greek populus should pay their taxes.

"Taxes are unbearable" stormed Alexis Tsiparis, rising star of the We Don't Need You And We Don't Have To Listen (La La La) party.  The British Labour party - pioneers of such policies as selling gold for peanuts, and taxing pension surpluses to stop the cheating electorate benefitting too much from their hard-earned wages - have waded into the fray.


Chuka Umunna, another Member of Parliament that nobody has ever heard of, attempted to show that Labour MPs can both subtle and high cultured, just like their Eton-educated peers and rivals in the Tory party.  Proclaiming Lagarde to be "no oracle", Umunna's attempt to link classic Greek society with current events was undermined by the fact that Lagarde's comments are so patently obvious that it would take only a moderately precocious 8 year old to suggest them in the first place.


Subsequently, Lagarde has updated her status to acknowledge the situation of the Greek people.  They will be compelled to choose their next leader from a wide range of foot-stampers, fantasists and rattle tossers (but are still not the only thing that keeps her awake at night).  


In Athens, last minute changes to the constitution have been enacted.  Should the popularity contest prove inconclusive once again, a decisive game of musical chairs can be played to elect a new leading man.  Octogenarian president, Karolos Papoulias, is now overseeing final rehearsals before a reprise of the election pantomime on 17 June.  

6 months again!

And time, and time.  It just flies. This is a placeholder post and will soon be filled with something more insightful.

For now, I've taken up embroidery, and from the wisdom wall:

"Stop over analyzing.  Life is simple."

This inexorable summer

It's been over 6 months! Where have we all been?

I should be securing the final pieces - the expensive, and delicate - into the final box.  Imminently leaving SW19 as I am.  Instead you caught me here.  Focussing on doing what I shouldn't be, but these won't pack themselves.  And when the men arrive they won't tolerate ill preparedness.

The portent of their reactions doesn't rouse me.  A sound in the hallway and my neck pulls my head and eyes to present.  Nothing further.  I continue waiting.

Black Swan - an entertaining silly movie

I watched Black Swan this week, Darren Aronofsky's film for the ladies.  There's been a few comments on Facebook about it, not all of them very positive, and it got me thinking.

I thought it was a really good date movie and thoroughly enjoyed it.  Sexual suggestion (lusty thoughts), scary overbearing parent (roll eyes), fantasy and mild terror (grab hands).  The nuance and presentation of the club scene was exactly right and the photography of the dancing footwork mesmerising.

The story, a fusion of rags to riches success (is that a pre-req for dancing?) with a cautionary tale about the price of getting what you want, was silly - genuine entertainment.  Less about ballet than the rise and fall of human beings.  

Which brings me to my conclusion.  This wasn't a pretentious art house film about the ballet.  It didn't take itself seriously.  The film wasn't at all what I expected having read the entry in the London BFI festival program last year, nor the blurb the Curzon had on the web.  I wonder whether that, more than anything else, will lead certain people to dismiss it.  This film won't make you smarter or more smug, but it will probably make you laugh.

Writing Meme - Saturday Centus

The party was in full swing when the room hushed and almost everybody looked around - the clink on glass signalled the start of a speech.  Or did it?  I looked down at the white rug, my face burning.  The falling goblet of wine had broken against the edge of the glass table.  And the red stain at my feet?  It was growing bigger by the minute...

Welcome to a short and sweet Saturday Centus, Jenny Matlock's writing meme that challenges you to thing big and write little!  Head over to Jenny's blog to read the entries and submit yours.  There's such a selection, some with much fuller stories than I felt like today  - try Karen's The Situation is Worse Than You Think, or Donna's Well Done.  Read as many as you can!

Instead I went with the mounting and relentless mortification, a la Bridget Jones, of something eminently forgettable to the masses that has the capacity to linger with the individual...  Not speaking from personal experience here at all!  Noo... Wasn't the first time I'd been invited round or a new rug or anything, noooo!!

Back in the U.U.U.K.

Just back from the USA road trip, and will shortly be compiling pictures and thoughts into some kind of content.  In the meantime - to make productive use of the 04:30 GMT jet lag that pits the robotic octopus of my leaden-limbed body against the malfunctioning sleep centre and French toast brunch craving brain - I'm watching movies and here's an interim post.

Broken Flowers movie review

Journeys, like gap years and career breaks, can generally be viewed two ways - and this movie is decisive in just the same fashion.  

A retired successful businessman resides in comfort and elegance in neighbourly suburbia, and is left by his younger, attractive girlfriend for failing to commit.  A pattern we come to see has repeated itself throughout his life, and which leaves him nonplussed.

An intervention is staged by way of his good friend next door and wannabe private eye, when an unsolicted and unsigned note is dropped through the letterbox the same day.

Whether you see an indulgent piece of artistic piffle where nothing happens, or a man who might be changed by revisiting his past, probably depends on what kind of movies you like.  Does experiencing a connection of which he was previously indifferent to or unaware of make a better man?  Or is it just an inevitable delay to carrying on with living life?

There are great characters - the detective neighbour, the trashy ex- and her jailbait daughter, the astute cat - and the acting is top draw across the board, but this is mostly about the protagonist and his demons.  It delivers on that premise, but you could look and see a wolf in buddy-movie clothing and come away disappointed.

If you happen to be the indulgent artistic type, maybe there's a comment on what it means to get what you want in life easily, and the nature of success if you are never left wanting.  I really enjoyed this gentle film, and it has a great score too - check out The Greenhornes.  

Movie trailer and details here.

Image published to web by StarDustTrailers.com

Fish Fight

I had the Fish Fight campaign flagged to me today.  Comprising Zac Goldsmith's Early Day Motion, and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's petition.

I wrote to my MP requesting she sign the EDM.  In brief, this is a request for a debate about the problems with mechanisms of existing fishing quotas.  

Current policy means that any netted fish that cannot be legally landed and sold are thrown back to sea.  As many as 50%.  Dead or dying.

I'm trying to work out if the quota concept as a means of sustaining fish stocks is actually a true catch-22.  

But ignoring that digression, dead and dying fish do not sustain a population and cannot support conservation.  This is an issue with a global relevance, even if you don't yet feel it's reach.  

I'd urge you to look briefly or in depth at www.fishfight.net and see if this is an issue that you feel matters enough to write about.

Non MX [multiplex] Short Film Night

Went along to this last night, and watched a selection of very polished short-to-medium films.  Inspired some conversation and ideas, but need to find something at a level a little more rough around the edges that we may realistically approach with our first offering!

The most striking thing was the size of the crews.  One production had 3 ADs... At the moment we don't technically own a camera.  Or a car.  But who needs a car?  And THE CAMERA is back on an ebay listing, and hopefully come Saturday morning I will own it.  No last minute carpet-wrenching from beneath my feet this time...

The ideas are there though.  A glass of wine yesterday easily crystalised the concept for Ant Is Great, although the man himself was not keen to take a starring role.  And a time frame (end of SUMMER!) for completion.  Just in time to enter the London 48 Hour Film Project in October.

This video below is a trailer for my favourite film yesterday, as it told a potent story with compassion and dark-humour, inverting the typical roles and impressions people have following parental break-up.  And I spotted the 'book ends' (which pleased me) and which executed very effectively.  Even if I did maybe make that term up...  Not claiming credit for it like, just general ignorance.

The Little Boy and the Beast from mic hic on Vimeo.

Writing Meme - Saturday Centus

Curated and presided over by Jenny Matlock (with unyeilding parsimony this new year!), here's a weekly writing prompt that encourages a response in any written medium.  Yup, it's Saturday Centus!

This week you have 25 words to responde to the prompt, the lottery ticket, and as this has to be mentioned you get 28 words to tell your microfiction.  

The lottery ticket glowed, it's halo reflecting the television screen.  Balls tumbling.  Lunatic presenter muted. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.  John blinked, murmured.

"Nothing this week, love".

Films This Week

Have embraced movie watching whole-heartedly since having free evenings restored, and devoured 3 this week.
Little Fockers, The Next Three Days, and via BBC iPlayer The Men Who Stare At Goats.

Little Fockers suffered being the tertiary offering, with Andi Garcia being a very flat character introduced as a necessary story pusher.  She had a hot bod though, so certain boxes were ticked if you're into that kind of thing.  By the twins' birthday party climax I was happy to skim over the contrivances and cringey nature of much of the story, due to the epic fight scene.  In the ball pit.  Laugh aloud pastiche of the classic big fish movie (not Moby Dick), left me on a jolly high.  Not worth an expensive movie ticket, but on cheap Monday, or colourful Wednesday, why not.

The Next Three Days had a bit of everything that Little Fockers was missing.  Interesting minor characters, enough believable behaviour to sustain the thrills, and was shot with attention to details that I appreciated.  Being a sucker for an emotional tug, it got me a couple of times with the presentation of a family in crisis and feeling abandoned.  I'm not the biggest Russell Crowe fan but no concern was needed despite it being a vehicle for his game, as it was a very good game indeed.  The ending was a little disappointing - not how it turned out but the way it was done.  But perhaps there's certain audiences whose acceptance of outcomes is tempered in the face of uncertainty surrounding a character's entitlement to that outcome.

The Men Who Stare At Goats made me think about voiceovers, and the role of v.o., foley, and music in telling a story.  A feelgood, post-hen do 90 minutes with a cast who looked like they enjoyed themselves.  Perhaps revising our concept of combat and engagement would make for a better world.  What I learned was that LSD might make you want to shoot yourself, goats are less cute than dogs, and there is much potential in a French hoax.  And there will always be someone who wants to be on top.

2011: The year of the read

How time flies.  No posts since November; nothing about the Southfields Theatre Group pantomime (run concluded last night), no posts about Christmas (least said the better), nor new year (a perfect evening - very unusual).

And so to 2011, to begin to climb the slippery slope that is actively deciding what I'm going to do for the next couple of years.  Rather, readying myself to face challenges and criticisms and dead ends with vim, vigour, wit and imagination - and that's just my father!

I'll start with the distance learning course - The Writers Bureau have sent a card offering £120 off their fees, making a course that could last a year only £30 than a 12 week class based.  I'll need the people contact of course, but between London Writers, twitter, NonMX, and Kid In The Front Row there'll be no end of available opinions and debates to absorb and be inspired by.

And to finish I'll go full circle back to my title.  Having repeatedly monikered each passing annum from 2006, The Year of Louise, we're trying a new tack this year. Lots. More. Books.  Everything else will fall in place around that solitary peace and contemplation, and I'll try to learn from brief, thematic reviews how to recognise structure and arcs, and emotional impact to make my writing pop.  Onwards...

Happy New Year everyone. 

Writing Meme - Saturday Centus

Saturday Centus is a weekly writing meme running Saturday to Friday.  Respond to Jenny Matlock's short prompt with your story, keeping the prompt intact.  O, you have 100 words to do so! (though the prompt isn't taken from your allowance).  Click on the button for full details, to read this week's entries, and to submit yours.  This is my first go.

Fall Lambs

 

Jeannie crumpled the wrapper, tossing it in the rubbish as she chewed her last bite of sandwich.  It was all over; lunch, summer, her marriage.

'Life's just beginning', she murmured resolutely to herself, tying her coat more tightly and clasping an embrace against the chill gusts - real and imagined.  

The early November sunshine cast golden rays over the park, but hurrying and squinting for want of sunglasses (now retired), Jeannie paid little attention until the sudden pain in her backside hit.  The man with glasses swam into focus, crouched in front of her.  Gently picking gravel from her hands, his strong arm helped her to stand.

Why You'll Never Win The Lottery

The Padrón Pepper Hypothesis

Ah Waitrose!  You browse round tasty (and ocassionally prohibitively expensive) produce, get to try exciting new things, and learn a bit about the world for free.

Last Sunday I bought padrón peppers - never heard of them.  This Thursday I walked past Fernandez & Wells, a bar that had blackboarded them as an available snack; the new BIG THING I thought.  And falling asleep last night I generated my theory.

These speciality peppers originate in North-West Spain, where they have been known as the "teeny weeny thug" owing to the occasional HOT one you might unknowingly pick from the bowl.

Yes, between 1 in 30 (Waitrose packet) and 1 in 50 (website below) are piquant, whereas the remainder have a gently green pepper flavour - not bitter like the usual greens are or sweet like a red pepper, but fresh and tangy in taste.  Fried for 90 seconds in olive oil and sprinkled with salt they proved an excellent accompaniment to cheesy steak baguettes.

http://www.padronpeppers.com/

The Theory

As delicious as the peppers were with steak, there wasn't a hot one in the pack (c. 40 peppers).  So on the basis I can't beat odds of 1 in 30, I'm going to have to rethink my retirement plan.

Sure, sooner or later I'll get to the crunch of a Russian Roulette moment a la Padrón. But whether shopping in Waitrose or shifting to Aldi, I'm pretty sure I can't afford the tickets to scale up for lotto.

Silly Story - The Cock & The Lioness

Here is a very silly story I wrote on the train, because my brain is in pain and nothing more sensible (like the novel and the screenplay/s) appears able to flow.

On a sunny but wintry mid-afternoon, you may happen to meet on a stroll round Bond Street, The Cock and The Lioness of London town, on their way to Selfridges from Marylebone.

'Ahhhhhh' sighed The Cock, ruffled by the cool breeze, and fluffing out all of his feathers to be, and stretching his neck as he strutted along and looked all around for the strains of his song.  'What an interesting building,' he waved with his wing, 
'Like peepholes with steeples', Lioness bared her grin,
'Or modernist pods,' he pondered aloud; 
'A cube with a view for the well thought of few'
'What you say is true - I call it a scoop!  A battery hen  could not complain at that coop.'

Looking closely at Cock, The Lioness purred, 'darling, your poetic meter is caught in a loop; and I'm still full from lunch and my alphabet soup!'

So close to The Cock she was an underground train; rumbling and rattling from low in the drain, so despite being companions he jumped in EXCLAIM!

Landing with feathers all flippety flap, he flew in her face and gave her a brap. 'You silly mad cat, won't you tire of that? You're no more a train than The Cock is a trumpet,'
'Little Cock, if you jump at the train then run fast, for my horn will out-trumpet your trumpety blast!'

Her tail was wiggling (really, don't ask) so The Lioness pounced with a flex of her hips; dribbled towards Cock - teeth, tongue and lips.  But his name was his character thus no need to stop, his initimate knowledge said she'd soon roll and flop.  So used to such silliness he ran down the road, evading her lavish attentions with show; a headless chicken he lead them their dance and squawked with laughter as she chewed at his pants.

Hiatus Suspended, November House Arrest Pending

Yep, I have signed up to NaNoWriMo.  And if that's not good enough reason for a post after 4 months, I don't know what is.

So my tardiness has been down to a hectic rehearsal schedule and job in part, and forging ahead in a new life in part; and for the next month - starting Sunday at midnight (obviously!) - that all has to shuffle along a bit for my first attempt at a novel.

Ha!  The girl who can't propogate a blog competently!  Well we shall see, I won't be holding my breath, because a month is a long time.  But the working title is Lighthouse and I have a loose plan.  Roll on Sunday.

Missed Opportunity

Hotel vending machines. Brilliant. The life blood of many a drunk or hungry overnight guest. Sometimes the contents are inspired in their simplicity, like the toothbrush / paste set for £2 at Travelodge Maidstone.  Others hit a spot, but perhaps not quite the one intended.

Take Revels for instance. The Broken Biscuit Selection of confectionary. Choices. They could be so good, so delicious; a selection of chocolate surprises in nibble sized form. But with 30 ingredients listed, its hardly suprising that taste, texture, and testimony are all somewhat muted.

I'm going to do a Heston style recreation of the Revel. It deserves a renaissance.

Where Giants Live Not Die

Yorkshire Sculpture Park.

It's coming to that time where almost every weekend gets filled with social activities (who am I kidding, I've been there 6 weeks already...), and there's so many other things happening it's hard to choose what to do. Well here's one for the ring of consideration - the only sculpture park in Europe.

In contrast to the equally magnificent airplane graveyards in the U.S., this location gives me the sense of fresh, green life. For the landscape, and walking, and having the opportunity to view pieces that capture your interest from first glimpse until you can touch and be dwarfed by them. And the many many photographs I'm certain will await. It strikes as a flare and depth of field paradise!

Watch a short (7min) film about the park and it's ambitions, contains a small selection of works on display. This is also available from the Park homepage.

Image (c) Adam Foster | Codefor 

via Flickr

Happiness = Having Something To Look Forward To

I'm enjoying having a lot of new favourite things.  There's room for one of every type I'm sure.  This animation is one; just because it makes me a little bit happy every time I watch it!

Lovely little cinema

Went to see I Am Love [Io Sono l'Amore] today, at the Curzon Wimbledon, on the green screen.  Forgot to take a picture, but it's fab in there and will go back.  Can get one next time.

Until 2pm every day, tickets are £5.  At peak times they are £10, and in between they range.  I love the concept of a sliding price scale, and it's simple democracy.  A similar system, albeit operated along different lines, is in place for Burning Man festival tickets.

The Curzon program has a range of films, some of which you could see at the Odeon 100 yards down the road and some you would never hear about unless you picked up the flyer from the bar -- I'm looking forward to Triomf sometime in mid-May -- or saw the crazy-ass trailer (Dog Tooth, I'm talking about you).  Oh, and there was a gorgeous boy working in the cafe, who sold me a tea made with one of the trendy new tea bags of loose tea they make up in front of you.

Anyway, I Am Love.  It was shot beautifully, and seeing it on a rainy Bank Holiday made me long for summer with all it's resplendant colours on people and in nature.  Although there were moments when focus was a bit too soft, the visuals easily ranged from engaging to breathtaking, with little outside those boundaries.  Lots of people smarter and more experienced than me can talk about Tilda Swinton's performances in great detail, suffice to say she pulled off a blinder.

The story of the difficulties of adjusting to change (and also how capable of acceptance and progression some people can be), we see how everyday things have the power to destabilise everything.  In this film, love is energy; it creates and destroys, but itself is only changes state or transfers.  And so I went away mulling this over: as love is energy, love is life. 

Being on top of the HMV building, I was also able to buy a John Adams CD, who did a large part of the tantalising soundtrack.  Maybe it's a retailers dream, but I had really rather a good time - I would have watched a 3pm film as well, but the tickets were a tenner...

Breaking In by Baking In

What a week, weekend, week, weekend... It dawned on me, cruising through The Village on the 493, that being a housewife is a dream job. Our mothers don't know how easy they had it.

Naturally there's plenty of yummy mummies round here, so (a) you get plenty of time to spend on yourself.

And baby needs fresh air of course, to make the most of all those Junior Genius tapes, so (b) hanging out in the park is practically the law.

The house has to be clean, and the bread winner fed of course. And children shipped between improvement classes and play dates, which leads me to (c) the rest of us do that shizzle anyway.

So today has been a typical day - running behind on most things, can't find the beaters for the electric whisk - so in preparation for the hen tonight and a different wedding tomorrow, it's multitasking time, despite it being a day off.

Which leads to today's photo. Will be wearing these brand new shiny patent cream confections all day tomorrow, so they needed a bit of breaking in while whipping up delicious confections for tonight.

Sadly the enduring absence of the beaters means no macarons, but speciality tiramisu flashes her skirts once more.

And if the extra lottery tickets pay off tonight, I'll not need the sugar daddy to carry on baking long into the week.