FUN @ Lowestoft, Suffolk

FUN @ Lowestoft, Suffolk, originally uploaded by timparkinson.

I'm going to use this CC licensed photo on the FTTDFF blog, I think it's perfect. It can be found in Tim Parkinson's Flickr stream by following the link. Thanks Tim!

EDIT: I've changed my mind, I think the FTTDFF is better without a picture. But thanks anyway Tim, and thanks CC licensing too!

Victoria Baths

Milney and I went on a tour of Victoria Baths. It was amazing. Here are some of the photos that I took.










This picture below is my favourite. It's the inside of one of the old sand filter tanks from the baths. Before chlorination, the water in the pools was cleaned by being poured through massive tanks filled with sand - the water would leave the first class pool, where the rich swam, then go into the sand tanks, where the sand would filter out all of the unmentionable debris, then the water would go back into circulation, this time in the second class pool for the plebs. The tank was empty, so I put my camera inside, turned on the flash, and got this picture.



What! A piece of paper! Wow! What's on it? It was a fair distance back, so I took my umbrella and hooked around it the paper. Once I pulled it out, I found that it was an old callsheet from the TV show Life on Mars, which had shot some scenes at the baths. What a treat! Hidden treasure is everywhere.

Beautiful photos

From Tiny Vices go and see!

NTS3

Percy

Local elections 2008

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.”

This is what counting votes for the local elections feels like.

Extra extra

Milney and I were eating lunch in Albert Square on Wednesday, when we were approached by a casting scout and asked it we’d like to appear in the new Ken Loach film as extras. Yes, we would, and yes we could attend a casting on Thursday after work, and yes, we’d see her there.

The casting was an odd affair. We were normal people who were scouted from the street, but there were clearly people there who were bona fide extras: it was like we’d stumbled into another world. I overheard the guy in front of us chatting to the woman about the kind of work they’d both done – mostly TV dramas that I’d never heard of. He sings in pubs, at weddings, in tribute acts. He wore a short-armed brand named t-shirt that showed off his big arms, and he spoke in a slightly squeaky voice.

Milney and I didn’t fare as well as the scout had led us to believe. She’d told us that we were just what the casting director was looking for. The casting director looked us both up and down and said, “Hmmmm. I’ll give you a call in a couple of weeks.” It felt like a rejection. I didn’t mind, as I hadn’t set my heart on being in the film, but I was still mildly disappointed. Lately I’ve had pleasant surprises with rejections turning out better than I thought they would, which made rationalising quite straightforward.

We walked out and passed one of the bona fides, who was griping about her hair being entirely suitable for the 1970s, and moaning about the stuck-up cow of a casting director. “What did she say to you, are you gonna be in it?” she asked us, wide-eyed. It saddened me that Ms Bona Fide was so eager for the work and so angry not to get it, and that Milney and I weren’t bothered either way.

It must be crushing to be told that you’re not even good enough to be in the background of a film, never mind progress – as I’d imagine a lot of extras hope to – into starring roles. I’m glad it ain’t me

Fletcher's faux pas not worth wasting time on

If it's a new month then it must be time for a new betting "scandal" in football. Step forward Sir Alex Ferguson, Patrice Evra and Louis Saha, who now find themselves the subject of an FA investigation over bets they are said to have made with each other over the result of two European Championship qualifying matches between Scotland and France. Details of the bets were revealed in an interview given by Darren Fletcher to Zoo magazine. "He [Ferguson] was happy when Scotland beat France. He won a bit of money because he was making bets with all the French lads. They were looking at him like he was a bit crazy, so they took any bet," the Scotland international said. "But he had the last laugh 'cos we managed to beat them twice."

Poor Fletcher, he probably thought he was being cute and revelatory. He won't make the same mistake again, not after yesterday's po-faced announcement from the FA to the effect that it "will take action against any participants in our leagues found to be in breach of our regulations, if it is proved they bet on a match that they were involved in or could potentially influence". It is difficult to imagine a more frivolous use of the FA's time and resources than this so-called investigation of Ferguson and co, although it is not difficult to work out why the FA would make such a song and dance; it is easy and it is eye-catching. A far more worthwhile job would be to examine the corrosive effects on the game wrought by the boom in gambling on the betting exchanges. But that would require effort, ingenuity and courage - attributes that are in short supply amongst those charged with protecting the game's integrity.

From The Guardian online sport section.

Nan pities fool

The woman ahead of me at the checkout, fake-tanned fifty-five, was with her two grandchildren; boys aged four and five with almost matching outfits. The bigger kid asked for sweets from the checkout display, and Nan said yes. After grabbing some Smarties, the kid was transfixed by a POS ad for Snickers.

“Nan, Nan, who’s that?”
“That’s Mr T.”
“Who?”
“You know, Mr T - ‘I pity the fool, I pity the fool, I pity the fool, I pity the fool’“

She affected an accent, so each ‘I pity the fool’ became ‘Ah pity tha fooo,’ and used a gruff Mr T voice, getting deeper and louder each time.

The smaller kid clung to Nan throughout.

Lucy and the Caterpillar at Cup

Tracy and I met after work. We had a pint in Odd (Kate was working), and then went to Cup to see the Lucy and the Caterpillar's single launch show. Everybody was dead trendy, Woody would have felt like a sore thumb again, I reckon. There were three acts.



Josh Weller had ridiculous hair, but some quite good songs.

Petty Thief was excellent. Some things reminded me of Dylan, or of Badly Drawn Boy. I'd definitely go and see him again. I'm sure - from his accent - that he's from round here.

Lucy and the Caterpillar were oddly disappointing. Musically, her band were more than competent, and Lucy has an amazing voice - Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music in one breath, Regina Spector in another - but there's something about the scope of her songs that lacks ambition. With her talent - not only can she sing and play, but she can really perform (Rachael Kichenside take note!) - she has a lot of potential, but the subjects of her songs - wanting to be a bumblebee; beans on toast; being best friends with a handmade doll - was better suited to a nursery school than to a gig for grown-ups. Structurally, again, they were overly simple - verse, chorus, verse, chorus, "thank you," giggle. Is a middle eight be too much to ask? She was punching far below her weight, in my opinion.

Lucy and the Caterpillar are not amongst my army of loyal readers, but if they were, I'd offer this advice: ditch the milk teeth, and put some snarl and some sexiness into your music - especially your words. Give us something in the words to get us thinking and reacting. The music can stay more or less the same, but there is no need to fear being psychologically sophisticated. The example I'd give of how that might work is the opening line of Venus as a Boy by Bjork.

His wicked sense of humour, suggests exciting sex.

From here on, it's clearly a song by an adult, for adults. If Lucy and the C can make that kind of developmental step too, I'd be very happy. Maybe Lucy needs to get in with a bad crowd? I want to send her If You're Feeling Sinister and The Boy With The Arab Strap and Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like A Peasant to show her that you can be twee and adult simulataneously.

Tracy had some interesting opinions on the draft of the Fun Things To Do For Free project, and its context. I'll have a think about what she said.