web analytics
More Website Templates @ TemplateMonster.com. January07, 2013!

Monthly Archives: March 2019

Diggy Smalls

Ron Swanson said that any dog under 50lb is a cat. I disagree, owning a 20lb border terrier. He’s called Angus.

aka Diggy Smalls

aaka Bilbo Fleabaggins.

He’s a ghost-face killer, a menace to all living creatures who find themselves between his surprisingly large jaws (and huge teeth) and he likes to fight big dogs. But he’s also the cutest little person I’ve ever met. He loves people. And sleeping.

If I ever need proof that animals have souls, I only need look into his eyes.

 

 

 

it’s just better

I tried, I honestly did, but in the end I bought another tenor sax.

The move to alto has been very rewarding, and it has a sweet lyrical voice that the bigger sax doesn’t have, but, as Davey Sax said to me once, tenor is just better.

 

Blast #2

It’s hard to show from a distance just how bleak Seaham Blast is. The entire beach is two metres deep of coal and iron-ore slag that was dropped from the foundry and the pit that used to sit on the cliff tops.

It’s so otherworldly they used it as a landscape in Alien 3.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The coastline is littered with things like this wall – a stone windbreak as reimagined by some wealthy creative type. My pal Wilson hates ‘public art’ but I think this is quite pretty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And this tree trunk is 350 million years old. If you believe the Abrahamic religions you might disagree, but you’d be wrong.

Sébastien Tellier

Sitting here writing I put on La Ritournelle by Sébastien Tellier, probably my favourite tune of the last ten years*. I turned it off almost immediately. It made me remember my pals back at my old job, and made me feel sad.

 

 

*along with about three others that I won’t list here.

 

The Blast

Think I’ll drive down to Nose’s Point this morning, take a walk along the top of the Blast. See if I can get as far as Hawthorn Dene, though I doubt I’ll get that far.

The Blast is a strange place, I believe they used parts of it to film the landscape for Alien 3, but I won’t be scrambling down the bank to get to it. It also features in Dealer No. 1, when Mickey’s dad threatens to murder a city councillor who is trying to blackmail him.

I’ll try and get some photographs.

Trane

Sometimes you just have to listen to John Coltrane.

No-one else comes close.

eu what?

Apparently our unelected masters in the EU have taken a broad brush to the issue of links, memes and the like, and there’s some sort of ban on internet providers allowing them to be used.

I’m really not sure what it is they’re after, I suspect they’re doing a Canute on the topic of online regulation, but it might mean that my posts with embedded links will be blocked, or maybe not. I’m not sure, to be honest.

The EU reminds me of the late-Spanish empire, obsessed with and weighed down by the minutiae of regulation and procedure and ‘form’. Meanwhile the privateers, light on their feet, flexible in approach, unencumbered with regulations and hierarchy and free of the dead hand of bureaucracy, are fleecing them of everything they own or will ever own.

 

Anyhow, when I find out the new rules I will endeavour to follow them. At least until the EU implodes. Which it will.

It can’t not.

“and there is no map”

Found an old copy of Debut by Björk in a second-hand shop in Hexham. Took a bit of listening to get back into it, but it’s paid dividends.

The opening track, Human Behaviour, is a sort of celebration of people behaving irrationally, and it’s joyful.

wings

Was at a jam session tonight with the Count, and one of the kids in the audience approached me and said he’d enjoyed my playing. He was short and stocky with a shaved head – a bodybuilder I thought, he had those really defined muscles which, I think, are called lats. Probably worked as a builder or something, I thought.

As he told me how much he’d enjoyed my playing, he said his dad, who had died some years ago, had played saxophone in a band too, and then he began to cry.  I gave him a hug. He went on to tell me he sang in a band, played maybe four or five nights a week. Shortly after that he got up and sang and he had a really good voice, throaty and raspy with an excellent tone.

He wasn’t the meathead I’d off-handedly assumed him to be, he was a musician – not that musicians are any better than meatheads, to be fair. But I was remiss; I’d pegged him for something he wasn’t, based on a superficial judgement, and I was wrong.