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

The Voice of Reason

This week for the first time: I was a member of a studio audience

Whenever I catch an episode of X Factor, I am always rather envious of the shiny red buzzers that are pressed when the judges are not impressed. Life would be fantastic if we could be born with a similar mechanism that we could put into play every time something displeases us; Nicolas Cage walks on screen - buzz..........my boss asks me to fill out my appraisal form - buzz..........somebody serves me a big plate of goat meat -buzz..........Coldplay - buzz...........

In the latest all-new talent show ,'The Voice', the reverse procedure is the whole principle of the show - the judges have their back to contestants during the auditions and are required to sound their buzzers when they like what they hear, with the goal of each forming a team of the creme de la creme. I have yet to decide if this adds to or takes away from the drama: Would the whole SuBo phenomenon have been toned down if Simon Cowell and co were unable to see Ms Boyle in her full frumpy black tights/white shoes glory before she exercised her lungs?

Whilst still deliberating this, yesterday I found myself in the studio audience for Round Two of Belgium's hottest singing contest. The auditions had all been filmed, the riff-raff eliminated and it was now time to sort out the men from the boys in a series of singing 'duals' performed at the Liege RTBF studios in a faux boxing ring. To my surprise, on arrival there was minimal fuss; I can guarantee that if this had been hosted in the UK, I would have been swimming in a sea of hysterical teens and ducking to avoid stray undergarments flying towards the latest wannabe pop idol of their dreams.

The first couple of hours involved some coaching sessions on how to be the idyllic congenial audience. Apparently polite applause is not enough to create the illusion of an electric atmosphere and we were required to shriek, whoop and wave our arms around like idiots. This was rehearsed repeatedly until our animator was content and we were hoarse (The Voice? I was completely minus my voice when I went home that evening) and then the opening and closing credits were filmed. Days earlier, I had asked a friend her advice on what to wear and she suggested that I should dress in bright colours to be easily spotted in the audience. Remembering the commonly know fact that TV visibly adds 4 or 5 kilos to your body weight, I decided against a psychedelic pattern and opted for a bright but plain coloured dress in the hope of blending in - quite a relief in hindsight, as the cameras were focussed on us way too often for my liking and, frankly, I'm pretty sure I looked a complete ass.

Maureen Rees
Driving School



Maureen Louys
The Voice


The programme is presented by a high maintenance-type leggy blonde, Maureen Louys. For some inexplicable reason, the Belgians seem to think that Maureen is an exotic and glamourous name. Clearly 90's docusoap 'Driving School' was never aired in Belgium.


During the auditions, successful contestants were selected by four celebrity judges/coaches for their teams, and then offered guidance and the benefit of their experience in the music industry. The celebrity judges involved in the Belgian edition of 'The Voice' are 80s bubblegum chanteuse turned raunchy rockstar Lio, yankeedoodle ex-pat smoky blues singer Beverly Jo Scott (her fellow judges refer to her as Bee Gee, which is probably preferable to BJ), Swiss Star Academy success story Quentin Mosimann and somebody called Joshua (I remain blissfully unaware of his claim to celebrity). The following stage of the competition involves four shows dedicated to each judge's team where the contestants battle it out in a duet/dual scenario and half of them get shown the door. The show we were watching focussed on Lio's team.

Once a lot of the faffing was over, noses had been appropriately powdered (I'm talking make-up) and Bee Gee's champagne flute had been topped up for the nth time, the contestants appeared and strutted their stuff around the boxing ring. While generally there was clearly some degree of talent involved, other moments verged on bad karaoke and the professional backing group were pretty sensational and the thing that impressed me the most. In between acts, there was a great deal of shuffling around of the audience so that the two families of the duetting artists had a ring side seat. Our position in the audience meant that at any given time we had one family next to us and the other strategically placed on the row in front. In essence we were in between a rock and a hard place; if we cheered on one contestant, the relatives of the other would potentially want to kill us or vice versa and all the while under the watchful of eye of the animator, insisting that we screamed ourselves blue in the face for every single performance.

At one point there was a rather sweet family to our right and we cheered on their little angel who Lio eventually opted to eliminate. This may well be a decision she will live to regret as his mother turned from nice as pie to Rosemary West in a matter of seconds, threatening a face-off with Lio after the show. I glanced over at her and felt a momentary unpleasant frisson of reminiscence of the public embarrassment of a mother with a score to settle and my heart went out to the poor boy and his red-faced brother sitting a few seats away from me. I half expected the following day's headlines to read "Lio knifed to death by pushy mum" and crossed my fingers that she had the necessary muscle in place within her entourage.

To be fair to Lio, she genuinely had a heavy heart when deciding the fate of the unlucky contenders. Visibly blubbering and melting mascara (bang went another 15 minutes of my day when it had to be reapplied) clearly she is not quite the diva she is made out to be, as she buried her face in a box of Delhaize 365 (supermaket cheapo nasty own-brand) tissues.

Five and a half hours later, thirsty and ready to gnaw off our own arms, we were invited to leave the building, but not before another obligatory congratulatory round of applause/idiotic whooping session.

Random The Voice 'Blind Audition' from Youtube

Would I try this again?:
I'll certainly have to live through it again:

Coming soon to you on a Tuesday night: My ugly mug plastered across your screen in HD.

Happy New Year!

Mesdames and Messieurs....HAPPY NEW YEAR and ALL THE VERY HAIRY CHEST!

The final couple of weeks of 2011 for me were as hectic as the end of a year can get. Much of my December timetable was clogged up with the sterotypical seasonal events of hunting out suitable but affordable gifts, the thankless task of writing Christmas cards and dipping in and out of Liege's magical 'Village de Noel' for the odd glass of mulled wine and  merry-making. The highlight of the yuletide season was the two weekends when we had the pleasure of hosting family and friends, which, added to a week-long visit to the parental home for the Christmas period, culminated in a rollercoaster of emotions from shared belly laughs to tearful goodbyes.

I'm hoping all this maybe serves as a valid excuse for my recent silence and seeming neglect of my blog. I have a tendency to scribble my thoughts down during my arduous daily train journeys, from which I have had a very welcome break, and, to put it bluntly, I have been having too much of a good time to be arsed with my blog. There I've said it!

Now it's back to business as usual and I'm hoping to keep my blog high on the list of priorities. Like every other Tom, Dick and Harry, I'm starting the New Year with the best intentions, determined to reduce my intake of alcohol and quit the 'bines and, of course, fit perfectly into a size 6 before bikini season is upon us - the latter is of particular importance after having to endure my brother refer to me as 'Mr Corden' over the last two weeks. My main focus this year will be to increase the level of creativity in my life, hopefully digging out my guitar again and attempting to write some more songs and develop my blog further (guest blogs and maybe even a new blog entirely). I already have some new experiences in mind to write about - hell, I'm even taking the day off work this week to try something new.

Before I turn my attention to 2012, I would like to dwell for a little while on the positive aspects of 2011.

Buying a bike
Despite the discovery that I am subject to bouts of road rage and have a vocabulary of French expletives that would make Bernard Manning blush, getting from A to B has been made much easier by the purchase of a city bike earlier this year. The morning ride along the river bank is a much better way to start the day than sitting with my head buried underneath my coat trying to stifle the odour of whoever has omitted to apply deodorant sat next to me on a stuffy bus.

Learning to bake
Another string to my bow that I never thought possible - has had adverse effects on my waistline but vastly increased my popularity amongst colleagues.

Starting a blog
Many moons ago, putting pen to paper came easily to me and was how I planned to earn my living. But life  got in the way and after years of writer's block and dwindling inspiration, I am overjoyed that I am finally back in the zone and have this outlet for my nonsense with the added bonus that people seem to read it and the odd weirdo seems to enjoy it.

Moving house
Good riddance to a bone idle landlord and house that was literally falling to pieces around our ears and hello to a new pad, so warm and cosy that a slanket is practically superfluous to requirements.

Learning to tap dance
For those who recall my earlier blog and lame attempts at fancy footwork, 11 lessons down the line, I can now perform a Shim Sham Shimmy (though not quite yet comfortably in public).