Rectangle Take Two

Almost 400 downloads for my first Rectangle podcast.  Thanks to everyone who listened and shared. It's already time for the second show. Enjoy!!!

Remember Me - Tame Impala
Psyched out cover of Blueboy's '97 one hit wonder that kept me rooted to Liverpool Acid Jazz club dancefloors back in the day. The original is based around two samples from a live version of Marlena Shaw's Woman of the Ghetto. This version is the B-side of Tame Impala's Sundown Syndrome single. Last month saw the highly anticipated release of the Ozzie ensemble's second album Lonerism.

http://www.tameimpala.com/

The Witch - The Primitives
I must admit that I was never really a big fan of late 80s Conventry indie pop ensemble The Primitives. I wouldn't have thought there was much reason for them to reform 20 years later, but I was intrigued to hear that they had recorded an album of semi-obscure covers on interesting Spanish label Elefant Records. While most of it's not my bag, I just can't resist this spooky psyched out version of 60s German duo Adam and Eve's The Witch. Consider it a belated trick or treat. Oh, and check out the original.

http://the-primitives.co.uk/

Lupine Dominus - Thee Oh Sees.
Washing dishes and checking out the Uncut Magazine September free cd, when track 8 came on, I almost dropped and smashed my best china. In the midst of a desert of the kind of dull alt-folk-rock that unfortunately seems to be taking over the world, Lupine Dominus was my oasis, quenching a long overdue thirst for something a bit out of the ordinary. This track has it all: it's dirty and fuzzy but when Brigid Dawson's vocals emerge, you're transported to a more blissful place. Their new album, Putrifiers II, is a joy from start to finish.

http://www.theeohsees.com/

Rainy Day - Susan Christie
I've just about had a bellyful of Adele, so I'm always rooting around for tracks by female singers with a difference. This beautifully rich vocal by the largely overlooked Susan Christie is featured on touching psychedelic folk album Paint a Lady which was finally released on Andy Votel's marvellous Finders Keepers label several decades after it's 1970 recording.

It's a Rainy Day Sunshine Girl - Faust
More talk of unpleasant weather (well I do live in Belgium!) this time from German Krautrock trio Faust and their 1972 track with an unexpected but delicious sax solo at the end.

Caught By the Sun - The Soundcarriers
When Broadcast's Trish Keenan passed away last year, a hole was left in my life. The good news is that Broadcast will be back with a new album in January 2013 featuring vocals recorded by Trish before her death. In the meantime, said hole was temporarily filled by the cinematic sounds of Nottingham's The Soundcarriers with their two remarkable albums Harmonium and Celeste. They have now gone on to take up their own place in my heart and I'm sure you'll see why when you hear Caught By The Sun.

http://www.thesoundcarriers.com/

Girl - Opossom.
Nostalgia-drenched psych pop from New Zealand named after a cuddly marsupial; who'd have thought? In fact, quickly skimming through my music collection, I can't find anything else from that part of the world. I may have a dusty old Crowded House cassette somewhere and I briefly remember a dalliance with some MP3s from a colourful outfit called The Ruby Suns, but other than that, I welcome any suggestions for a more comprehensive Kiwi playlist. This opening track from debut album Electric Hawaii gives a playful nod in the direction of The Velvet Underground's Femme Fatale before drowning you in Beach Boys vocals and Beatles drum patterns. Their single Blue Meanies is also worth more than one listen.

http://opossom.bandcamp.com/

Wives and Lovers - Andy Williams
Sad times. The music industry recently said goodbye and RIP to two of its legends: Hal David, one of the finest and most influential lyricists and one half of the only partnership to rival Lennon and McCartney, closely followed by velvet-throated 60s legend Andy Williams. Here they collaborate on the innocently misogynistic Wives and Lovers. Music by the wonderful Burt Bacharach.

Our Day Will Come - Ruby and the Romantics
More recently brought back into the spotlight with Amy Winehouse's slightly skanky and delicious version on posthumous compilation, Lioness: Hidden Treasures, this 1963 orginal has the edge thanks to is delightfully soaring hammond swirls.

Beep Beep - Edgar Summertyme
Perhaps new album Sense of Harmony is not his best work to date, but this cheeky bossa nugget from my favourite Liverpool bedroom noodler keeps putting a smile on my face. For those who want to explore further, Summertyme also goes by the name Edgar Jones.

Baby Please Don't Go - Gary Glitter
Perhaps not the best choice of track when, a week after recording my show, Glitter is once again in the public eye under suspicion of wanting to be in Jimmy Savile's gang. But political correctness aside, this version of blues classic Baby Please Don't Go is just too good not to share. And there are the other musicians to consider...

Food For My Soul - The Dragons
It's a long story, but the edited version goes something like this. Way back in the 70s, some one-time Beach Boys session musicians were playing around in the studio and recorded an album of experimental jazzy harmony-laden grooves that never got released. Forward 30 odd years when DJ Food discovers Food For My Soul on an old surf soundtrack and loves it so much that he gets in touch with the Californian brothers leading to an eventual 2007 of their lost album BFI on Ninja Tune. Interestingly, Daryl Dragon was also one half of 70s duo Captain and Tenille who topped charts with their cheesy but lovable hit Love Will Keep Us Together.

Jardin du Luxembourg - The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger
Like father like son? Quite possibly, as the most talented of the Beatles offspring has shacked up with his model girlfriend in a New York appartment where I can't help but imagine they lie in bed amongst a sea of quirky musical instruments recording their cutesy melodious pop.

http://www.thegoastt.com/

Two Fingers - Jake Bugg
Support act for Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds, baby-faced Jake Bugg first impressed me with his flawless performance on Later...with Jools Holland. The Nottingham-based teenager is affectionately referred to as the "council estate Dylan" and Two Fingers does what it says on the tin; if he gives a double digit salute to any record company moguls that try to polish him up, I think there could be great things to come.

http://jakebugg.com/

Sneak Into My Room - James Levy and The Blood Red Rose
A modern day take on Lee Hazelwood and Nancy Sinatra, James Levy and The Blood Roses's country tinged debut album Pray To Be Free is chock full of romantic duets like Sneak Into My Room. Plus there's a really cute cat in the video!

http://www.myspace.com/bloodredrosenyc

Desert Raven - Jonathan Wilson
A hint of Americana to finish with this luscious sun-drenched piece of nostalgia from Wilson's 2011 album Gentle Spirit. Jonathan Wilson was born around about the same time as me and here he evokes the nights when I was allowed to stay up late and hear my parents spinning 70s classics like The Eagles, Crosby Stills Nash and Young and America.

http://songsofjonathanwilson.com/

Planet Claire, C'est Rectangulaire!

Yesterday one of my lifelong dreams came true: my very own radio show went on air. In my tender years I would spend every Sunday afternoon, meticulously recording the UK Top 40 on a C90 cassette, carefully pausing the tape recorder to eliminate the voice of The Hairy Cornflake, Bruno Brookes - or whoever happened to be hosting on that occasion - and replacing it with my own dulcet tones.

Now, once a month, you can hear my very own selection in podcast format on Radio Rectangle. I can’t promise any 80s classics from the likes of Rick Astley, Bananarama or Joe Dolce, but I hope to treat your ears to an eclectic mix of my favourite new releases and some older weird and wonderful psychedelic and soul treasures from around the globe.

Here’s the first instalment and some details about my selection. If you enjoy my show, please spread the word!

Give Me a Second Chance – The Wave Pictures
For me, one of the more original bands of their genre around at the moment thanks to lyrics wise beyond their years and their highly entertaining and varied live shows. This track is taken from their latest album Long Black Cars on Moshi Moshi Records.

http://www.thewavepictures.com/

You still Believe in Me – The Magnetic North
One of the finer moments on Pet Sounds Revisited, a Beach Boys covers compilation issued by Mojo Magazine last June.
http://www.myspace.com/themagneticnorthmusic

Puppet Man – The Fifth Dimension
The harmonies, the wah wah guitars, the threads! Impossible to listen to this California late 60s classic without a smile on your face.

Funky Funky Blues – Damon
A psych curio I happened on one day recently whilst rummaging around YouTube. Just 100 copies of Damon’s album Song of a Gypsy were pressed, making it one of the most sought after collector’s items going for a snip at $3,500 on ebay. Now reissued at a more democratic price.
http://www.damonthegypsy.com/

Lost in Dreams - Brian Olive
From former Greenhornes guitarist’s 2011 second solo outing, Two of Everything. This is how I imagine John Lennon would sound if he was an up-and-coming songwriter in the current climate.
http://www.brianolive.net/

Ruby - The Silver Apples
From their second album Contact which unwittingly caused their break-up. The band and label Kapp Records were faced with a lawsuit on behalf of spoil sports Pan Am who were unimpressed by sleeve artwork picturing the band in a plane cockpit surrounded by drug paraphernalia and playing banjos amongst plane wreckage. http://www.silverapples.com/

Left a Message – Death Masks
A lot of record company interest in this young group at the moment. Both tracks are winners on this debut single which can be downloaded for £0 at bandcamp. My brother plays drums, but a bit of nepotism never hurt anyone.
http://www.facebook.com/deathmasksband

Watch The Flowers Grow – The Wonder Who?
I immediately thought that this was an obscure Zombies track on first listen. In fact, it’s Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons sneakily recording something a little more flower power than usual under one of several pseudonyms that they apparently enjoyed adopting every now and again. It’s featured on Belle and Sebastian’s Late Night Tales 2 compilation amongst a bunch of other treasures.

Little Girl – Spiritualized
A band that never seem to put a foot wrong in my book, managing to stir up melancholia and simultaneoulsy lift you to a higher plain. This track does what it says on the packet.
http://www.spiritualized.com/

Cuts – The Bordellos
It’s a family affair with this North West trio of two brothers and their ultra talented son/nephew Dan. Brian Bordello churns out immaculate pop songs at an enviable rate. So much so that he has already pushed an album’s worth of fine material in my direction to record with my band The Winter Tyres. A huge challenge to do his work justice. Cuts is from their latest long-player, Monkee Complex and can be downloaded from bandcamp.
http://www.facebook.com/TheBordellos

Get On Your Knees – Reverend Beat-Man and The Unbelievers
Earlier this year, I would never have imagined Swiss rockabilly punk to be my work-out music of choice, but after a blinding gig at Liege’s Microfestival in August, I’m a total convert. One of my best DJ moments was cranking this up in a local bar and turning round to see an excited barman proudly showing me his upper arm tattoo of the Voodoo Rhythm Records (home of the Reverend) logo.

Our Love Will Still Be There – Fabienne Delsol and The Bristols
A weird production where the drums almost sound like they are providing the melody. Accompanied by a beautiful it’s-so-bad-it’s-attractive French girl singing in English, this makes for a delicious groove.

Chicken Payback – The Bees
‘All the animals together break it down let me hear ya!’ Surely this retro soul flavoured track should have its very own dance sequence?
http://wearethebees.tumblr.com/

Only In My Dreams – Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti
Mature Themes is a strong contender for album of the year. I’ve opted for one of the mellower, less crazy tracks that doesn’t mention blowjobs of death or nympho colonscopists.
http://4ad.com/artists/arielpinkshauntedgraffiti

Transformation Fantasy – Joy Zipper
I’m a sucker for male/female pillow talk duos and this is one of my favourites. The Buffalo Springfield sample is used to great effect, lulling you into the false sense of security that it’s another Summer of Love when, basically, it hasn’t stopped pissing it down for weeks.
http://www.myspace.com/joyzipper

Juillet Brillait - Mademoiselle Nineteen
A little more pretending that it’s summer. If people still bought cds, this would be selling like hotcakes this year in the UK, as the latest coffee table perfect French pop with which to impress your friends at dinner parties.
http://www.mademoisellenineteen.com/

Thinking of You – Paul Weller
I don’t always see what people mean when they talk about Paul Weller’s ‘impeccable soul taste’, but here he revamps this Sister Sledge disco classic to showcase it as the love song that it truly is. Acoustic throaty bliss from the Modfather.
http://www.paulweller.com/

It Started Out So Nice – Sixto Rodriguez
If you haven’t yet seen awarding winning rockumentary Searching for Sugarman, then get your ass down to the cinema pronto. The wonderful story of would-be 60s folk legend will make every last one of your hairs stand on end. Waterproof mascara all the way, ladies.
http://sugarman.org/

  

The Customer is Always Wrong

Yesterday I found myself in the stressful position of returning a pair of headphones to Fnac. I purchased them just 5 weeks ago in the sale and, unfortunately, they stopped working in one ear. Armed with my receipt, I politely explained the situation to the surly man on the After Sales counter and awaited my fate. On this occasion, he reluctantly agreed to exchange my product, but not without first pointing out that I had owned the item for almost a month and a half, so what did I expect....? Mmmm…..maybe I should read the small print on my ONE YEAR GUARANTEE.

Unfortunately, this kind of situation is common place here in Belgium. As much as I love living here and all the warm and magical people that surround me, I will never get used to the Belgian approach to customer service. After growing up in a climate where the customer is always right, - even if he punches you in the face - I don’t understand why I am compelled to endure being treated like a criminal for being in possession of a faulty product and having to apologise for even daring to approach a shop assistant when they are in the process of stacking shelves.

Yet nobody ever seems to complain. Nobody here seems even slightly irritated at having to queue for half an hour at the sole open till as shop assistants stroll around chatting merrily and doing precious little else. On occasion, I have made futile attempts at airing my grievances. There is never a manager to speak to, but on the rare occasion there is, your issues are met with reactions that vary from indifference to outright mirth. Figures of superiority without fail side with their co-workers and have zero tolerance for aggrieved customers.

Lack of basic training and motivation is clearly one of the underlying factors, leaving staff indifferent and undynamic. The Post Office at Brussels Schuman is a good example. A colleague of mine once queued there for more than 20 minutes to buy some first class stamps, only to be met with outrage; "We don’t sell stamps here".  As he pondered incredulously over the purpose of this enterprise, the little old lady queuing behind him offered to sell him a book of stamps  that she was carrying in her purse. Maybe that’s not a bad business idea; setting up a stall selling stamps outside the post office.

It was far from the best decision I have ever made to buy a bike at Decathalon. I probably would have got better after-service care from a car boot sale. Decathlon has surprisingly late opening hours compared to other Belgian retail outlets and, handily, I can pop to the Liege branch on my street until as late as 7.30pm. I once went there around 6.30pm for a minor repair to my still-under-guarantee bike, only to be told by the department representative that he was too busy and that I should come back the day after and implying that I shouldn’t expect any form of service if I have the gall to show up at the shop after 6pm. All the while he was standing under a gigantic sign that read: 'Service Express' I made a mental note to book a day off work for any future inner tube replacements.

For many years, I have frequented swish salad restaurant Le Bruit Qui Court who recently closed their doors for several months to undergo refurbishment. I was quite surprised on my last visit there to see minimal amendments to the previous décor and that in essence, they had just ripped out the bar to create extra space for tables. They must have had a 50% increase in potential diners. But had there been a boost in the number of staff? Had there buffalo! There were just two waiters working at lightning speed to ensure that all those hungry mouths got fed. The result was that we waited over an hour for our first drink and then got served the aperitif and starter simultaneously. When one of the poor waiters eventually leaned over to pour my wine, the stale body odour he was exuding was almost enough to put me off my scallops (almost!). This system is just based on pure greed, over-exerting staff to the point of abuse and dissuading customers from leaving tips. Restaurateurs may think they are the winners, but when mistakes such as forgetting to include the wine on the bill inevitably occur, as in this instance, they are also left out of pocket.

Unfortunately, I don’t see the status quo changing any time in the near future , but,  ladies and gentleman, if I am not alone in my plight and you have an axe to grind, please feel free to use the space on this page to name and shame any societies or patrons that have treated you like anything other than royalty.

Rectangular

Coming soon....new radio that will revolutionise Belgian radio...Rectangle will be on air on 24 September 2012...


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Knowing Me, Knowing Ewing

If my memory serves me well, the first best day of my life was when my Mum announced that I was allowed to stay up until 9pm and watch Dallas. For my preadolescent self, this represented the first taste of an adult world that had previously been off limits. From then on, my Thursday nights would be filled with high drama, cowboys and oversized shoulder pads.

Like the rest of the world, Dallas became an all-consuming obsession for the female contingency of the Wilcock household. Some of my very first crushes emerged from the earlier episodes, arguably influencing my penchant for bad boys when I eventually entered secondary school: There was Bobby in his snug swimwear, hunky Ray Krebbs who liked to get his hands dirty and, who can forget, Dr Mitch Cooper - Lucy’s first husband, who my Mum described as ‘dishy’?

The only dark days of the 80s were during the summer months when, following an episode featuring an unseen character called Cliff Hanger, Dallas mysteriously went off air until it was time to go back to school. In the meantime, I could play with my goldfish named JR.

 

Sadly, Dallas fizzled out in the early 90s, as, 14 seasons down the line, viewers finally started doubting its credibility (nobody batted an eyelid when Bobby came back from the dead five seasons earlier). There may be American series coming out of my ears these days, but nothing will ever fill the void in my life that appeared when my beloved Ewings disappeared off the television.

 

But now, it's back!!!

 

After more than ten painstaking years, everything is just how it should be. It isn't a remake, it's a continuation. Initially, I was somewhat sceptical; would it be possible to create a modern day version of Dallas with everything in place that made it so fabulous in the first place? But after viewing it last night, I can safely say that it is a resounding success. Why? Well, all the essential ingredients were in place...

 

Dallas: The Essential Ingredients

 

1. The Theme Tune

If they had changed the theme tune, I would have switched off immediately. End of.

 

2. The Cast

Miraculously, the casting director has managed to get some of the best loved original actors and characters back on our screen, including brothers JR (Larry Hagman) and Bobby (Patrick Duffy). Looking slightly more piggy-eyed and thick-necked than a decade ago, Steve Kanaly also put in a brief appearance as Ray Krebbs. Elsewhere, with Charlene Tilton clearly focussing on a blossoming Hollywood career, it was nice to see Vanessa Feltz cast in the role of petite and saucy (I'm quoting Wikipedia) Lucy Ewing. And finally, we come to Sue Ellen. Nobody else could portray everyone's favourite woman scorned as well as Linda Gray. Disappointingly, Sue Ellen is sober in this pilot episode (although she does look a bit rough, but I'm guessing that's probably down to one Botox shot too many).

 

3. Continuity

Bobby is married to some woman called ‘Ann’ and poor Pam is not mentioned once during the entire episode. Maybe she was just in a dream I had. Otherwise the continuity is completely flawless, even to the point that there is still the same photo of John Ross as a boy in powder blue pyjamas on JR’s desk as in the original series, which the camera pans in on at least three times.  Nice touch.

 

4. The slur on the memory of a dead Ewing

On this occasion, the deceased Miss Elly is disrespected when John Ross goes against her wishes and drills for oil on Southfork Ranch, quite rightly resulting in his ejection from the Ewing household.

 

5. Oil field brawl

Usually between any two (possibly three) of the brothers and broken up by one of the elderly Ewing statesmen. On this occasion John Ross and Christopher hammer it out following the oil drilling incident (see 4).

 

6. The sheriff visits Southfork Ranch

Often with news of a Ewing altercation, DUI incident or to serve papers. No matter how hostile, the sheriff is always greeted jovially and served a Scotch on the rocks (although all-day drinking seemed a bit thin on the ground in the all-new Dallas).

 

7. Ewing wedding/BBQ/Oil Baron's Ball

The party of the year that, without fail, comes to a sticky end following some manner of fisty cuffs.

 

It was me!

Hearing the ocasional grunted cyncism from the lips of my husband was not quite the same as curling up on the sofa with my Mum and half a pound of chocolate raisins, but I can say with some degree of certainty that I will be making a date with the TV for several Wednesday nights to come.

Back to Blog

April 2012. With a fresh injection of holiday bonus cash burning a hole in my pocket, I decide that it is long overdue that I invest in my very first laptop. How I had managed to survive without one up to that point was perplexing. Just think of the hours of translation work that I could plough through with the right technology in my hands. And then there was the matter of my blog. Now that I had become a regular and accomplished blogger, with portable IT at hand, I could finally become one of those enviable souls that lounge around plush cafes uploading intentionally faded retro photos and typing up their witty repartee as they nurse the same pot of Lapsang Souchong over the space of an entire morning.

5 months later and time for a reality check. Glancing sheepishly this morning at my neglected, unedited blog, it dawned on me that I have spent €600 of my hard-earned on what is just another (more cumbersome) device for playing Bubbleshoot and that even my commuting hours have been spent mostly unfruitfully.

To be fair to myself, the past few months have been a busy time. But before I embark on an intricate myriad of excuses, honesty is probably the best policy. I feel compelled to acknowledge that this blog has been weighing me down somewhat and adding an element of unnecessary pressure to my life. While the concept of trying out new pursuits remains dear to me, the practice is unsustainable and what was supposed to be an escape channel from the humdrum of routine has, ironically, become equally as suffocating. By promising that ‘Every week I will try something new’, I essentially created a set of limitations for myself.

At the same time, my passion for writing and sharing anecdotes and photos has not dwindled, nor has my zest for new experiences. I considered starting another blog, something more focussed and sustainable, but I’m not ready to abandon ‘The Spice of Life’ and its voice just yet (nor can I be arsed desiging a whole new page!)  So I guess it’s time to take the blog somewhere else…I’m not sure where…but watch this space…

Girls on Film

This week, for the first time:

I watched 'He's Just Not That Into You'.

Rom coms, chick flicks, whatever you want to call them, I have never been massively sold on the idea in the past. There was clearly something not quite right with me, as box office figures, Academy Awards and the rest of the general female public frequently begged to differ and while 'Titanic' was selling out in cinemas all over the world, I was more than happy to sit at home munching on a bowl of Butterkist glued to the latest Korean horror picture.

After watching 'He's Just Not That Into You' on Sunday, I have somewhat changed my mind. With a star-studded cast (Jennifer Anniston, Ben Affleck, Drew Barrymore, Jennifer Connolly, that guy from Alias who's in everything at the moment), I initially switched on this film as the perfect antidote to my post-birthday party fatigue, but after just a short time, discovered that I was enjoying every second thank you very much. There was even a brief moment when a genuine guffaw took control of my body and during some of the more sentimental scenes, dare I say it, my eyes filled up.

The storyline covered a spectrum of characters and focused on how signals from the opposite sex can be misinterpreted (in particular women misreading men). Thankfully, the movie avoided taking stereotyping a degree too far and built on some interesting scenarios; Jennifer Aniston's character, desperate to marry long-term boyfriend who refuses to pop the question; Drew Barrymore's portrayal of a young woman disenchanted with the ins and outs of dating in the modern world (I am eternally thankful that I settled down with my better half before times when it's necessary to log into five different devices until it sinks in that you've been dumped); Jennifer Connolly as neurotic sour puss whose husband strays with a literally scarlet (Johansson) woman. They all lived happily ever after is a foregone conclusion with most chick flicks, but what I liked about this was, it wasn't a deliriously happy ending for all of the characters and, now and again -shock, horror - there was something I could more than vaguely relate to.

The conlusion that I have drawn is that, like any other film genres, there will be movies that are good or even great and others that are just simply awful and, maybe I am just difficult to please when it comes to chick flicks. Take 'Bridget Jones's Diary'. I have had to sit through so many conversations in the past ten years listening to intelligent women shrieking in delight about this movie and I have simply sat there nodding and smiling at the appropriate moments. Well now it's time for me to come clean; I can't stand Bridget Jones. The film; the book; the woman; the whole concept. I find the 'let's all have a jolly good laugh at a big pair of knickers' humour a little on the patronising side. Bridget Jones makes me feel pigeon-holed and stereotyped and, while the message is supposed to be 'it's ok if you don't look like a super model and you're not a size 6', it's also saying that the alternative is to be this goofy, clumsy, irritating, man-hungry horsey type. Other than dress size issues, we have little in common; a broken heart would not lead me to sit at home wringing my hands and listening to Eric Carmen power ballads. Nick Cave murder ballads maybe. On first viewing, the giant pants thing is possibly mildly amusing, but I genuinely find these 'we're all girls together, nudge nudge, wink wink' conspiratorial gags tiresome. I'm not a miserable sod, honest. But for me, as Bridget Jones masqueraded as a positive role model for the new Millennium, she actually represented three steps backwards in the evolution of my gender.

And don't get me started on 'Mamma Mia'. I had the misfortune to encounter this alleged piece of entertainment a few weeks ago when I was stuck at home, under the weather. 20 minutes was all I could stomach and that was being open-minded (and too lazy to reach for the remote control). Implied in every second of this cringeworthy tat is that, once a woman hits her 50s, her sense of dignity hits rock bottom and she is completely justified in indulging in the most vulgar, raucous and downright uncouth behaviour. Just because we maybe aren't blessed with the same youthful beauty as Jane Seymour or Honor Blackman, doesn't mean that any decorum or femininity should be straight out of the window. Meryl Streep should be obliged to return her Oscars after her ill-advised appearance in this tripe. Such a shame as I quite like Abba. Our American cousins have managed to perfect the chick flick, in a way that currently escapes us. Usually harmless enough, their leading ladies are often too-good-to-be-true, but it doesn't stop us all from aspiring to be like them anyway. Despite her somewhat questionable profession, everybody wants to be the Julia Roberts character in 'Pretty Woman'. And let's face it, when it comes to romantic hero, they get it far more on the money than the Brits do. You can give me twinkly-eyed Richard Gere over dull-as-ditchwater Colin Firth any day and even a pushing septuagenarian Clint Eastwood ('Bridges of Madison County') rates way higher in the sexy stakes than faffing buffoon Hugh Grant ('Notting Hill'). I have just finished browsing through several lists of 'Top 100 Chick Flicks' (there's even a full list of 100 written for the male audience for the purposes of wooing unsuspecting females, complete with quotes). Admittedly, there are more than a handful that I have never seen (The Joy Luck Club, The Truth About Cats and Dogs), some that I have every attention of avoiding at all costs (My Big Fat Greek Wedding, anything with Whoopi Goldberg), but there are others that I've seen countless times which will never get stale (An Officer and a Gentleman, Love Story). There are probably too many gory Asian arthouse films out there to prevent me from wading my way through these entire lists, but I'm more than happy to borrow Julia Roberts's thigh length boots from time to time. Bridget Jones can keep her big pants, though. Will I try this again?: I'm waiting for your recommendations, ladies...

I'm Forever Shooting Bubbles

A couple of weeks ago, for the first time ever:

I played Bubble Shoot.

I've never possessed a Playstation. I've never been the proud owner of any form of Nintendo device whatsoever. I just this minute had to consult Google on how to spell 'Wii' (not French for 'Yes' apparently) for the purpose of writing this blog. I am a far cry away from what I would consider a computer game geek. With a superior air, I often consider myself way higher up on the intellectual ladder than the spotty oiks that while away hours behind drawn curtains, complexion slowly fading, as they strive for the ultimate utopia that can only be experienced on completion of level 23 of Mortal Kombat 57. I am one of life's great thinkers; thirsty for knowledge; a proper little culture vulture.

Pull the other one.

I have just dusted off the calculator and, if my reckoning is correct, over the past month, I have spent a grand total of 2040 minutes of my time blasting coloured balls into simthereens. Almost a day and a half; a day and a half out of the life that I frequently complain is disappearing before my eyes playing 'Bubble Shoot'. Most people try to count sheep jumping over a fence if they can't sleep. At the moment, I am prevented from sleeping by the constant stream of coloured bubbles falling from my ceiling.

I've had an iPod for years now. A necessary evil for any music aficionado forced by life style choices to cram their entire music collection onto a digital postage stamp. But when exactly this handy device mutated into my portable games console, I can't quite put my finger on. I think it may have begun with an innocent game of Sudoku which I discovered was available as a free iPod Touch application, representing a substantial saving for me, a sorry individual who had previously waded through at least two Sudoku magazines per month (yes, there are people who actually buy those - 'nerds' I think they call us). Still keeping things intellectual, I then progressed to playing the odd round of Scrabble with train buddies to kill that painfully slow 20 minutes when our beloved SNCB locomotives chug along at snail's pace between Leuven and Brussels. But when I discovered that half of my family and friends were secretly playing Pro Basketball or throwing a virtual screwed up sheet of A4 into a wire basket - Paper Toss - I felt like I must be missing out on something.

In no time at all, paperback books and music magazines were abandonded and I now find myself daydreaming that I have smaller thumbs and wondering if I can discreetly cram in a round of Bejewelled Blitz during the working day without being spotted by colleagues.

It's a bit of a shame for me really - while others delight over intricate 3D platform games, I am far more content with a classic spaceship 'let's blitz those aliens' scenario or a gentlemanly round of solitaire. The simpler the better. It could be because I grew up in the 80s or maybe due to the fact that I was an only child until the age of 10 and, before my brother came along and I had somebody to torment, I made my own fun and have thus, always been easily entertained. Bubble Shoot is perfect for me; the aim is to match similar coloured bubbles of at least 3 in a row and shoot them into oblivion before they reach the bottom of the screen and you suffocate under a sea of mean and angry bubbles. My only gripe about this game is that I'm not too keen on the version that flashes up 'Loser!' whenever your game comes to a sticky end.

Will I try it again?:
Currently trapped in the nightmare that is Level 12 (bubbles falling faster than the speed of light), I haven't slept for 48 hours.

Might as well face it I'm addicted to...
The computer games that have made me who I am today.

Tetris
Such a great theme tune that it was hardly worth playing in circumstances that required sound off. My favourite version is this one by the Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra. I never knew it had lyrics. And is that Mark Lamarr wearing shades on tenor sax?

Parapper the Rapper
The only highlight of my early twenties' post-pub evenings (I never really cared for getting stoned). Not unlike my favourite 80s toy Simon, this game involved copying a rhythm sequence. But Simon didn't involve a rappin' dog nor an animated singing onion. Don't get cocky, it's gonna get rocky...

Treasure Island
Commodore 64
Stone Age Man's computer game. Long John Silver consisted of one giant single yellow pixel with a tiny jaunty green one perched on his shoulder (parrot) and a thin brown one sticking out at the bottom (peg leg). Joystick to the right...away we go...joystick to the left...no more lives left. Frustrating beyond description, with a catchy theme tune that will live with me to the grave.

Fruit Ninja
Nothing beats the sound of the satisfying squelch of a samurai sword slicing through a watermelon.

Virtua Tennis
Dreamcast
More hours of my precious time were wasted in Virgin Megastore staff room wiping the floor with the macho security guards who had designs on The Davis Cup. With the realistic top spin mechanism, I became convinced that should the opportunity arise, I could effortlessly make mince meat out of Pete Sampras in real life and make Andre Agassi cry like a baby.

Born to Hand Chime, Baby

Last week for the first time:

Guest blogger Pauline played hand chimes

Being a lady of a certain age I decided to join the U3A.  Which for the uninitiated is University of the Third Age?  No, it is not a hippy or happy clappy organization before you ask. Various volunteers lead groups of over fifties to teach them new skills in the prime of their lives.  The scope of subjects is amazing. One can learn anything from Latin to Hand Chimes. 

Which joining the latter, brings me to being the guest blogger for Claire.

I decided as I have never played a musical instrument it would be very nice, as my family are all very musically talented, to learn something new and meet new friends.  Little did I know what I was letting myself in for.

On arrival at the local parish hall I was met with an array of expectant faces with quite a buzz about the place. Eventually, Patricia stepped forward and introduced herself as the leader of, hopefully, her second group of hand chimers which consisted of about 16 budding musicians of different levels.

We were all handed a sticker with our names on which we had to wear proudly on our bosom. Then it started.

A catalogue of do’s and don’ts, which left the majority of us wondering whether we had had a time shift back to school.  Nevertheless, we all smiled and carried on listening. We had to have special black gloves, ordered from the website of Hand Bell Ringers of Great Britain, so our hands wouldn’t slip and could we please have them for next time. 

Eventually we were all allocated a chime, but as I don’t read music it meant nothing to me.

Now a hand chime is a metal tube (even though it is square, I know, I know I’m getting pernickety) with a beater attached to it.  Each one has a different note and varies in size.

Patricia handed the three men in the group the larger ones and then sized up all the ladies allocating the size of the chime to the size of the lady.  I was very pleased as I had quite a small one, which boosted the ego tremendously!

We then stood round in a circle with a sheet of music between two people.  The problem was there were too many people and not enough chimes, so four of us had to share.  Which was ok, as one could look around and see chimers' faces as they struggled through the music.

After a very shaky start, we managed to perform quite a good rendition of Bobby Shafto – so I’m told!  I have to say it didn’t sound like it to me but having to concentrate on finding my notes, it could have been the Hallelujah Chorus.

I am by nature a giggler and watching everyone’s faces was very amusing. They ranged from the smug – obviously the music readers – to the absolutely petrified.  I was somewhere in between. 

The technique was explained in graphic detail from Patricia as though we were about to perform open heart surgery: 

• STAND UPRIGHT
• FEET APART
• CHIME IN AN UPRIGHT POSITION
• FLICK OF THE WRIST WHEN IT’S YOUR NOTE
• DAMPEN THE NOTE ON THE OPPOSITE SHOULDER BEATER SIDE UPPERMOST

All went according to plan until one of the ladies in my foursome came to play her note. Either in her enthusiasm or fear,  instead of the flick and dampen on the shoulder technique she completely missed out the flick of the chime and whacked herself on her left shoulder with such gusto it made the windows in the church hall rattle.

Everyone was stunned, Patricia looked over openmouthed and me and the other three ladies dissolved into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

“Time to call it a day”, lamented Patricia.

We all heaved a sigh of relief.  Packed up our music stands and gave ourselves a big pat on the back.  Well let’s face it, Bobby Shafto after one session is no mean achievement.

Will I try this again?  Well I have ordered the gloves and they won’t be suitable for gardening.

The Winter Tyres

Once upon a time, a talented young man based in the North West of England wrote a handful of beautiful songs, set to work with his acoustic guitar and recorded them on a C90 cassette, scribbling 'Songs for a Girl to Sing' on the spine. Slipping the tape into a padded envelope, he popped to the post office and asked the kindly assistant for international stamps: desination: Belgium. Across the English channel a budding songstress waited eagerly, checking her letterbox every day....and waited....and waited.......

Skip 10 years. MP3s fly across the internet faster than you can say "dropbox" and cassettes are practically prehistoric. During a Facebook conversation with friend and songwriter Brian Bordello a couple of months back, we pondered the disappearance of said cassette and mourned the loss of interpretations that were never to be. Or were they?

All was not lost. Brian found a second copy of the cassette somewhere gathering dust in the bottom of a cardboard box and this time, the Belgian post did us proud (we were possibly a little naive to attempt the same scheme again, but hey ho). After handing it over to somebody with more advanced equipment than mine, the cassette went through a conversion process and was reborn as an MP3 file which was waiting in my inbox in next to no time at all (thanks Benjamin).

The big question for me was how to bring these magical songs to life; my guitar playing is extremely limited (I must be the only person who claims to play guitar who can't throw out a rendition of  'House of the Rising Sun') and my honest feeling was, that to do these melodies justice, I would have to devote myself exclusively to the vocals, or at least for the time being, until I gained the necessary experience and confidence to branch out.

There was only one solution and, luckily for me, friends Maria and Remy were completely on board when I made the suggestion that we form a band and, The Winter Tyres were born! Remy is an accomplished guitarist and a joy to watch on stage with his other bands The Hype and Blue Velvet. But the project I had in mind was a far cry away from the heavy grungy riffs of these other ensembles and I wasn't sure whether bitter sweet acoustic pop would be his bag. Coincidentally, he had listened to a few Bordellos' numbers on my Facebook page and was filled with the same admiration as me. Maria has never performed in a musical capacity before, but her enthusiasm and diligence has led her to master the glockenspiel in no time and some imaginative touches with maracas and cabasa are a positive addition to our music.

Sunday afternoons have now taken on a new dimension for me. Instead of lounging around in a semi-melancholy haze, channel hopping between Columbo and the Eastenders omnibus, now I have band rehearsals. Venues alternate between our respective apartments, but there is one constant: every week somebody provides sweet treats. Muffins, scones, pancakes, cupcakes, loaves - you name it - baking is the new rock 'n' roll! I've been contemplating renaming the band The Spare Winter Tyres, or even The Fat Winter Tyres, but it doesn't quite have the same ring.

I have made half-hearted attempts at pop groups before but, more often than not, it's been little more than a singsong over a few cans and nothing has ever made it out of the comfort of somebody's living room. This time, I feel like an essential part of a winning formula of creativity, productivity and good old fashioned fun. And that's what making music should be: damn good fun. Coldplay may be racking up the award nominations, but since when did it all get so serious? Don't get me wrong; music should be approached with the love and attention it deserves, but the kind of over-sincerity that seems to be in vogue these days makes my skin crawl. Massive Attack's 3D allegedly crosses the road if he spots Daddy G coming his way and, while this may well work for our miserable Bristolian friends, I would genuinely find it impossible to be at my most creative without the kind of camaraderie that I have with Maria and Remy.

Friday was our first ever gig. We played a selection of Brian Bordello's songs and added one of my tunes plus an uptempo number that Maria and Remy wrote together. We know we have a long way to go, but the reception was very positive (we were amongst friends, of course) and we enjoyed every minute and are all looking forward to the next gig, writing more songs and finding out what's in the oven next Sunday afternoon.

Now That's What I Call....a Pop Quiz!

Last week for the first time: I hosted a Pop Quiz

All has been quiet on the blog front for the past few weeks. But, despite appearances, I am still wholly committed to my endeavour of indulging in a new experience on a weekly basis. The difficult task is finding enough hours in the day to put pen to paper and share my exploits with you good people who invest your time in this nonsense.

I threw myself into January with gusto and determination and probably developed a few more wrinkles and grey hairs in the process, but all in the name of adventure and good fun. Over the past month, I have dined at an exquisite restaurant where I had my first ever five-course meal, seen a live gig featuring a hurdgy-gurdy and started my very first band, as well as viewing some great films such as Black Swan, Westworld and, my new favourite Rogers and Hammerstein number, Flower Drum Shop. I am short of breath just thinking about it.

The most time-consuming task at hand was, without doubt, the Pop Quiz that I volunteered to organise for my colleagues at the Thursday evening office bar. After witnessing a previous general knowledge quiz event, which had more in common with a history test than an alcohol-fuelled battle of wits, I decided that myself and collegaue Rebecca had what it takes to provide a night of entertainment for the hard-working, high-flying types that hang out in our building (ie nobody from my department turned up).

There were two difficulties: setting the appropriate atmosphere and pitching the questions correctly. I have been to hundreds of pop quizzes over the years, demanding varying degrees of expertise and levels of competitiveness. If you ever attend a pop quiz in Belgium, you will witness first hand a laid-back ambience where shameless cheating is totally acceptable, if not encouraged, and teams vary in size from 2 to 25 players. On the other hand, at a recent event in Holland, after arriving late, we were banished from the quizzing area as contestants fought it out in deathly silence under exam-like conditions. As most of my colleagues are from the UK, and with lessons learned from the previous office quiz, I decided to keep it light-hearted but with the healthy competitive spirit that the Brits seem to enjoy. I kept it fun but challenging, whilst bearing in mind that not everybody is as big a music nerd as I am.

My lengthy train journeys and precious iPod proved invaluable in the preparation of the 6 rounds of 20 questions that I cobbled together, which, I hasten to point out, do not in any way reflect my musical tastes:

Pictures
Simply name the artist pictured. Images of a wide variety of pop stars from Puff Daddy to Crosby Stills and Nash via Bryan Ferry wearing a very strange hat and looking nothing like Bryan Ferry. My favourite answer was from the team who mistook Kraftwerk for Los Lobos and then went on to actually try to explain the logic behind their thinking. ("We knew it was a German band...")

General Pop
2 rounds' worth of music excerpts covering all eras and genres from lame "we're not a boy band" Maroon 5 to 70s Dad rock ELO via Katy Fucking Perry.

Covers
Name the song, the artist and the original recording artist.
Contestants scored highly on this round despite my feeling that I had raised the level of difficulty. Surprisingly, nobody recognised Ian Brown's Mancunian mumblings on Billie Jean and I would really love to hear the original version of Nothing Compares to U by Dolly Parton.

Film and TV
Popular theme tunes from both the big and small screen, that people didn't spot as easily as I anticipated. A shame Spandau Ballet didn't do the Ghostbusters theme.

Don't Give Up Your Day Job
Songs recorded - or in many cases, slaughtered - by celebrities who achieved stardom via a route other than music, including classic gems from Samantha Fox (Double D for effort), William Shatner and the velvet-throated David Hasselhoff. Alas, the dulcet tones of Russell Crowe and Ricky Gervais in their respective bands The Ordinary Fear of God and Seona Dancing passed everybody by. The final few questions focussed on the previous occupations of international superstars before they picked up their first microphone. Most people know that Sting was a teacher, but who would've guessed that Cyndi Lauper once cleaned out dog kennels for a living? (although I do prefer the idea of her being a jockey as one team suggested).

With the additional bonus of Belgian special beers at the bargain price of €1,50, the evening was a resounding success. Knowledge was impressive and scores were really close with the competitive element present right until the very end. A good time was had by all, including myself and glamorous assistant Rebecca and I learned a very important lesson that I am sure will serve me well in future quizzes and perhaps if I ever enter the European Commission Concours; if all else fails, write down Tom Jones.

Will I try this again?: Round 2 in May. Maybe.

Under the Boardwalk

This week for the first time:
I watched Boardwalk Empire

The best thing about January - possibly the only good thing about January - is that you can get away with staying in and hibernating every night using post-festive blues, dreary winter weather and hardship as acceptable excuses. I have been politely declining most invitations in favour of cosy nights in curled up with my better half and, at the weekend, I even treated myself to a 'Staying in on a Saturday night' outfit consisting of elastic, drawstrings and velour for optimal comfort. My cousin's in-laws refer to these rather fetching combos as 'loosies'.

The hours spent rooted to the sofa have practically doubled over the last few weeks and the desire to watch TV versus quality programmes being aired ratio is sadly not in my favour, meaning that, without illegal downloading I would potentially be staring at a blank screen or resorting to a game of dominos. A sorry existence? Quite possibly. But I think January has managed to redeem itself thanks to HBO's addictive series 'Boardwalk Empire', that I downloaded at the suggestion of my Mum and brother who are both leading authorities on everything that is good television.

Set in Atlantic City in the 1920s prohibition era, Boardwalk Empire has everything you could want from a TV series; drama, gangsters, sex, violence, a killer soundtrack and Steve Buscemi. Not many actors can make your skin crawl and be sexy and heart-warming all at the same time and this is why Buscemi is high on my list of favourite actors and why the nominations and awards have been flooding in for his potrayal of dodgy Atlantic county treasurer Enoch 'Nucky' Thompson.

The quality of the cast doesn't stop with Buscemi. A buff looking Michael Pitt (Funny Games) smoulders as Ivy League boy turned gangster and the addition of Michael Kenneth Williams was a stroke of genius after he very clearly stole the show as Omar Little in HBO's other gem The Wire. Casting doesn't get better than Kirkby up-and-coming star Stephen Graham (Combo in This is England) as Al Capone, who ditches his scouse accent for a thick Brooklyn drawl.

Stephen Graham was recently sat in front of us on a Liverpool to Brussels Easyjet flight. He was collared by cabin crew for carrying what was very clearly oversized hand luggage and made to wait and board the plane last so that they could place his luggage in the hold for an extortionate fee. Every single passenger had to walk past him and, scousers being scousers, there were constant cries of "Y'alright Stephen, lad?" and "How's it goin' Al Capone?" The last passenger to climb aboard a full plane, I'm sure he was relieved when he discovered that a stag party of about 15 semi-drunken blokes had saved him the final seat right in the middle of their group and were only too keen to quiz him about what his Mum had cooked for Johnny Depp when he was invited to dinner at the Graham family home.

A visual feast, no stone is left unturned when it comes to detail in the television masterpiece that is Boardwalk Empire. The first episode was directed by Martin Scorcese and cost $18 million, but this does not take the shine off subsequent episodes with jaw-dropping cinematography the likes of which is rarely seen on the small screen. I confess that usually, I hardly pay much attention to set or costume design but in every episode so far, I have found it difficult to hold back on verbalising my appreciation. Just take Kelly Macdonald's (Margaret Schroeder) hats - each episode is in competition with the last in terms of elegant headwear design - and I can only imagine the look of delight on Buscemi's face when he was first introduced to his wardrobe. Why don't they make suits like that anymore?

Boardwalk Empire is groundbreaking and honest in its approach to scenes of a sexual nature. Without being overly gratuitous, it makes a refreshing change to the usual fully-clothed erotic scenes from other American series (Jennifer Aniston's bra probably needs surgically removing) and pays a fitting tribute to the somewhat louche morals of the era. It doesn't hold back on the violence and at times, my squeamish nature leads me to avert my eyes from the screen. There's a certain amount of humour involved in the show and many of the belly laughs come from the clever portrayal of the social and technological differences between the 1920s and the modern day.

My next step will be to investigate the music. I am already hooked on the Donovanesque Brian Jones Town Massacre theme song 'Straight Up and Down'.

Would I try this again?: They can't make series 3 fast enough.

Fun with Steve Buscemi: Chicks with Steve Buscemeyes