today, i'm listening to...

christine collister
"into the light"

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I went to the 'big' post office today, to send a package to the U.S.
I had to join this long queue, that snaked around a couple of times, and as each person left, a disembodied voice said, "Cashier number seven, please!" in a horribly sugary, patronising tone.
God it must be hell on earth to work in there and hear that bloody pre-recorded voice about ten thousand times each day. I bet most of the people who become mad axe murderers are post office employees.
The chap that served me had that pallid 'shoot me, please shoot me' look, so prevalent amongst people that rarely see daylight. It was like being served by the undead.
I imagine as post office workers drift off to their weary sleep, perchance to dream of 'air mail' stickers and first class stamps, they hear a distant voice, cooing "Cashier number seven, please!"

I went to the pub in the village for lunch today. I thought I'd go on my own, have lunch and read the newspapers. I like doing that sometimes. No rush. No conversation. It was good!
Anyway, on my way to the pub, I came across WPC Peters, who told me that the UFO watchers are making an early start this year. If you weren't with me this time last year... this part of Berkshire, in England, is, apparently, well known amongst the sky-watching fraternity as one of the most visited parts of the country for UFOs, and in the village we have a hill where several UFO seekers gather at nightfall to watch the skies, and spook each other out, I guess. Last winter, we also had the tale of the 'mysterious missing man' who was being checked out by WPC Peters, and when she turned back, he had disappeared (this story made page seven of the local newspaper!).
Here's one example from a Usenet report, of local 'UFO activity'.


UFO HOVERS OVER TOWN ON THE BERKSHIRE-SURREY LINE
Residents of Sunningdale, Berkshire, UK gathered on Chobham Common to watch a bright light hover over the nearby town of Camberley, Surrey.

The UFO continued its northward descent and then "began stretching until it formed a crescent moon shape--like a C." After that, it disappeared. (USENET report.)

I'll make sure you're the first to know if any UFOs land outside during the night. Mind you, as I slept through the famous UK earthquake the other night, I could probably be abducted by aliens and sleep right through the whole experience.


I received a lovely email from my old pal Christine today. She starts a tour tomorrow, and if you live in the UK, I wholeheartedly recommend you go to one of her gigs. I will probably go to the Wycombe one...
To see a full list of Christine's tour dates, click on 'More'...

One of the cool things about getting older and 'suffering' from short term memory loss is that I can watch Series Seven of 'Seinfeld' and it's like watching it for the first time again. I must have last watched this particular series about two years ago, and although I could remember vague scenarios and characters, it was like a whole new experience for me. Sadly I've watched every episode now, so I'm going to have to wait another two years before going through all of this again.
The new Peter Gabriel album, Up, has been on constant play, in this household, for the last couple of days. PG's work is often melancholic, and in many ways, this is no exception, but it is a very articulate piece of work, both lyrically, and musically.
We've had a few 'western music fuses with world music' affairs recently (1 Giant Leap, Damon Alban) but 'Up' has a depth of quality where Gabriel has infused his own mark on top of the layers of rhythms and the complexities of sound.
Words are always meaningful in Peter Gabriel's work, and here he relates his fears and concerns, along with acerbic glimpses at the way we live and, in particular, the goldfish bowl of the media.
There are so many influences and collaborations that it would be pointless to simply list them here.
The more I listen to this cd, the more I become convinced that Up is Peter Gabriel's Sergeant Pepper. That's a big compliment, man. Unless you're Billy Shears, I guess...

The village was more or less deserted today.
People went as individuals, or in organised groups on The Big March. In addition to the numbers from our village, about 400,000 others turned up to make their point.
I'm all in favour of letting Mr Blair know that there are dissenting views, but I sit on an uncomfortable fence as far as fox hunting goes.
Liberty is our lifeblood, our oxygen. The choice to live the way we, as individuals, wish to live, seems to be constantly eroded, so part of me wants the people who participate in hunts to be free to choose to do so.
Living in a rural environment, I'm very aware of tradition, and how much it means to those living in the countryside. I have also seen at close quarters the damage that foxes can do to livestock.
But... but... something deep within me (call me a woolly liberal if you like) is ill at ease with the thought of a bunch of hounds tearing that same fox to death.
So I stayed home today.

Do you remember I was droning on about possibly having my shortsightedness fixed by biting the bullet and undergoing that laser correction surgery?
Well I have my 'assessment' at the optical clinic place in a few days. I'm pretty relaxed about the procedure except for the bit about snipping a hinge in my cornea. I'm not quite so relaxed about that...
Who knows - the clinic people may even say I'm not 'suitable' for the treatment.
They want a copy of my eyesight prescription to see if there is any deterioration in the last couple of years, so I popped over to my opticians in Farnham this afternoon. I love Farnham. It's a small-ish town in Surrey, where time, essentially, stands still. Little teeny timbered houses and shops. In fact some of the houses are so teeny that I guess to live in the houses you couldn't afford to be taller than about 5'6" or you'd be banging your head on the door frames all the time. Seriously.
A lot of Georgian buildings stretch the length of the High Street.
Here's a picture of a tiny shop in Farnham, and here's some of the tiny houses.

I spent the day with The Girl, and then tonight we met up with some friends and had dinner right in the heart of London, just off Piccadilly.
Now we didn't have dessert and we went for a bit of a mooch about, when The Girl suggested we stop at the Haagen Dasz place in Leicester Square. Man, there are some odd characters about in London at night. We sat at a table outside, facing into the Square and this guy bundled up to us, already out of his head, and said, in the peculiar way that people who live on, or work on, the streets in London, have of tumbling all their words together, "Izzthereapubdownhere?"
"Dunno mate", I replied.
It was getting cool so we headed back towards the car (I parked in Cork Street next to Saville Row - it's my favourite parking place in London), and next we got stopped by this geezer who was sketching people for a fiver a go.
"Wannapictureofthelady?"
"No ta", I said "I already know what she looks like"
The Girl told me off for being provocative.
Some girl was selling necklaces that light up for two quid each, and I just said, "No thanks" to her.
London goes weird at night.
Talking about the Rolling Stones, which we were the other day, I see that they are about to release yet another greatest hits cd, (and a bloody remastered one, at that!).
This set me thinking about exactly how many 'greatest hits' albums they've released over the years. I didn't need to research this too deeply, as clearly this thought has popped into the minds of others. It turns out they have released at least 24 of the greatest hits compilations, and that doesn't even include 'live' albums.
Ain't that just a few too many?
It's also rather telling that apart from the four 'new' cuts on the latest cd - the most recent 'hit' to be featured comes from the early 1970s, which, sadly, reflects on the importance (or lack of) of the Stones in contemporary music.
Still, it doesn't matter I suppose. It's just a bit of shame, in my view, when old rockers become something of a parody of their former selves. It's not the growing old that's a problem - it's the pretence that they still have some relevance. Go ahead and promote a greatest hits tour, fellas - but quit pretending that you're all 26 years old and about to set off for Altamont.
It was all a long, long time ago.

Man, I've gotta get out of this weird 'Keith Richard' style of living. I've gotten into this cycle of going to bed at about 3.30am and then emerging in the mid morning. I'm in my forties for heaven's sakes. Mind you, Keith Richard must be in his sixties - but then again he's no advertisement for a healthy look, is he?
"New from Nivea - Rolling Stones Face Cream - You can look like Keef!"
Nah.
I must be going through some Celtic kick at the moment, as I'm listening to Van Morrison today. If you're a 'Van virgin', there's no finer place to start than Astral Weeks. My copy is on CD, but hasn't been remastered. I hate it when they reissue stuff 'remastered', as if it's a badge of honour. Leave it as it was recorded.
When music is remastered it sounds like it's been shot with an anaesthetic. They should put a sticker on the front - "Warning - Sanitised Version!"
I'm zooming across London to Stamford Bridge, to watch Chelsea play somebody or other in the UEFA Cup. See ya later.