Thursday, 8 May 2008
Monday, 5 May 2008
Kissing just for practice
I'm happy with Blogger but I like the look of tumblr too. The top tag in my cloud is 'photo' - perhaps I should record those seperately in a tumblog? It's a scrapbook, not a diary, they say. This is a diary with scrapbook parts wedged in. I'll have a think.
I really enjoyed this post by Jaclyn B on tumblr. Will my kids look back on this blog in the future? I hope so. I'd love them to dig out stuff that even I've forgotten.
I really enjoyed this post by Jaclyn B on tumblr. Will my kids look back on this blog in the future? I hope so. I'd love them to dig out stuff that even I've forgotten.
FUN @ Lowestoft, Suffolk
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!
Sunday, 4 May 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, 3 May 2008
Friday, 2 May 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
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
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.
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.
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