(Not especially) sweet music

To a rehearsal of Bach's B Minor Mass last night.

There's a member of my choir called Chris who I always thought was a bit odd.

Anyway now he seems to have decided to inhabit a woman's voice: he was singing alto.

It didn't go especially with the shaven head and beard.

Trouble is, he was sat right behind me, his voice is about twice as loud as all the other altos, and, while in tune, it doesn't exactly have a nice tone to it.

Still, I manfully struggled on with the bass part, and overall it was quite a successful evening.

Strictly's Alesha

The lovely Alesha (as opposed to that other lovely, Alicia) has been very badly treated by commentators on Strictly.

OK, so she's not as much of an expert on dance as Arlene, who she replaced.

But surely there's room for someone who's been through it (and won), knows a fair bit about the subject, speaks for the viewers, and (yes, I admit it) is rather attractive as well.

Anyway, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and her contributions have been good since joining the show.

So be quiet, Alesha knockers!!

Not very magical

No doubt all my regular readers are wondering what I thought of Derren Brown's lottery stunt during the week.

Well, I wasn't particularly impressed.

I didn't see the stunt live (I think I was out for choir at the time) but I saw it on the Net later. I thought it was quite a good trick, but clearly it could be done by some sort of camera trick, or a time delay between the lottery draw and Derren's show.

It always strikes me that the essence of magic on TV-as it could always be a camera trick-is to convince the audience that it's 'really happening'. One way of doing that is to have a studio audience, which DB didn't do:it was just him on a studio set.

I watched the follow-up show last night on which he promised he would tell us how it was done. Of course, he didn't. It was just some nonsense about mathematics and the power of the subconscious. I shouldn't have believed he was going to give away his secret.

So how was it done? Clearly DB had to have an assistant quickly produce a set of balls matching the winning lottery selection: easy enough. These then had to be substituted for the balls on show on DB's set without the TV audience seeing. The trick here, it seems to me, was to have a slight time delay between DB's performance and broadcasting it. This was observable from the slight delay in the TV he was watching with the lottery results, in fact DB referred to a slight delay himself.

Then, at a crucial point (ie when his assistant has the balls ready to substitute) DB's broadcast goes 'live', leaving a couple of unbroadcast seconds in which the assistant quickly switches the balls.

Seems logical to me, anyway...

Happy days

I used to meet my mates Herb and John for a pub lunch every month or so. One of our haunts was the Royal Oak at Lasham - a nice little village near us with an airfield (from which quite a few people go gliding, as well as ordinary flying).

On one particular occasion we had a very nice lunch, and a couple of pints of course; when we were done, I got in my car to drive home.

Anyway, the next thing I remember is that I was driving along a very flat, very wide road, and there was an aircraft driving alongside me.

Well, of course, I'd driven onto the airfield.

Luckily I quickly found the way out, and no harm done.

Family history

As you know, I'm doing quite a bit of research on the history of the Sheraton family: not just my branch of the family, but all of it (I imagine we're all related if you go far enough back, but of course it's difficult to get the evidence back in the 1700s and before).

Anyway, one particular branch of the family which I've inevstigated seems to have been quite wealthy, owning farms etc. They moved from Co Durham to Shropshire in about 1830, and had a house at St John's Hill, Ellesmere. Some of that branch went to Liverpool and became merchants. They then seem to have died out round about 1920.

The first thing which I found today is that there is a house called Sheraton House in St John's Hill, Ellesmere, and English Heritage have it on their books as a listed property. I'm sure it's the same house.

Then, amazingly, on looking for further information about the house, it turns out that it is currently for sale! £795,000 for a six-bedromed detached house, and it looks lovely in the pictures.

Of course, I don't have that sort of money to spare, but if I did, and if I was thinking of retiring to that part of the world, wouldn't it be wonderful to own a house called Sheraton House with a genuine family connection?

I can dream, anyway...

Stupid stupid stupid

I went to the gym the other week (that's not the stupid bit).

I felt a bit hungry, but I remembered that they had some sort of vending machine with sports drinks and snacks like cereal bars.

I thought I could manage a cereal bar, so put my money in the machine and pressed the buttons.

Unfortunately I must have pressed the wrong'uns, because what came out was something quite horrible.

It was from the makers of Lucozade, it aimed to provide energy, and it was a sort of gel, the basic content of which was glucose.

It came in a tube, and what you had to do was to cut the end off and sort of squeeze it into your mouth.

The taste was disgusting (just sweetness), the colour and consistency bland (think wallpaper paste) and overall it just provided calories to make you fat without any of the offsetting positives in terms of appearance, taste and feel of, say, a nice bar of chocolate.

Now here's the stupid bit: as I had spent good money on this rubbish, I consumed it.

No-one will ever read this (except me of course)

Just got back from holiday and back to work tomorrow: a pain, but it gets me out of the house.

Had to get the AA out to sort my car, as the battery had gone flat in our absence.

Next job is to replace the car, possibly with a Jag.

Memories (not the Lloyd Webber song)

I always travelled quite a bit on the Portsmouth to Waterloo line, at least between 1962 (when I first moved to Pompey) and 1988 (when I left for Bournemouth).

There's a part of the line a few miles from Waterloo where the line runs above the level of the surrounding land, so you can see into people's front rooms (if they live in a second floor flat).

At some time in that period, probably in the early seventies, and for I'd say a couple of years, it was possible to see from the railway line the top of a factory chimney (the base being out of sight) standing up above the level of the line. And incredibly (I swear I'm not making this up), sat right on top of the chimney was a wrecked sports car (I'd say a pink Triumph Spitfire, or something of that ilk).

Of course, I've never known how or why it got there, but I've always wondered.

Judy (not Collins)

In a similar vein I've recently been researching (and becoming a Facebook friend of) Judy Dyble (original Fairport Convention singer).

Not only is she still performing, it turns out she's related to my old boss Quentin de la Bedoyere...small world!

Buffy (not the Vampire Slayer)

Who should turn up being interviewed on the BBC World Service the other night but Buffy Ste Marie.

It seems she's still recording and touring.

Of course, the youngsters at work had never heard of her...

Fools (including me) on Facebook

As I've mentioned before, I'm keen on studying family history and, to this end, I've made a point of contacting as many people as I can who have the same surname as me (Sheraton, if you remember) and asking them to be my Facebook friend. The idea is that they may be able to give me useful information, and vice versa, and this has happened with quite a few of the Sheraton clan.

Anyway, responses fall into two main groups. Most (I'd say) just accept the request. A smaller number just ignore it.

But there's just one or two who take exception to my request.

"Who are you? I don't know you! Leave me alone!"-that sort of thing.

So for them I've created a Facebook group "I wouldn't be David Sheraton's Facebook friend if you paid me money".

Silly I know, but it amused me when I set it up (not under my own name, obviously).

The funny thing about it is that quite a few people have joined-most of whom I've never had any contact with (attempted or not) whatsoever.

Just goes to show there's quite a few people just as stupid as me out there.

D T Rave to be robbed of booze

So, we now have (at least from next Monday) a Designated Public Places Order for my village (Four Marks in Hamphsire).

This means that if a policeman has reason to believe that I have been drinking, am drinking, or am about to drink, he can accost me and confiscate any booze I'm carrying-on pain of arrest.

An obvious tactic will be to wait outside the off-licence; reasonable cause to belive that DTR emerging from there is about to drink.

Of course, this is all meant to be part of the fight against anti-social behaviour, and I'm not in favour of gangs of youths drinking and behaving badly in public.

But we do have established laws against under-age drinking, and also against disorderly behaviour. Why can't we just enforce those laws, rather than dreaming up a host of new ones (with enhanced police powers over all and sundry).

Here endeth today's rant.

Bloggers revealed

So, it's now likely that the 'real' identity of bloggers will be revealed in the public interest (story in yesterday's Times).

I can't wait to find out who Mrs Pouncer is (unless that's your real name, Mrs P).

I shan't reveal my real identity, because it's even less interesting than my blogging identity.

Anyway, Shakespeare's plays weren't written by him, but by somebody else with the same name.

Byee

DTR

And then the heavens opened

Bit of a disaster on Thursday.

I was just getting dressed (trousers not yet on) when I heard a great rush of water coming from the general direction of the bathroom.

On checking, enormous quantities of water were pouring in through the ceiling!

I was fairly quick thinking, and turned off all the stopcocks and similar I could think of before alerting la Duchesa.

Then it was a matter of trying to collect the water that was cascading into the bathroom and other places: most notably the bedroom, and in particular the big bed, which ended up flooded and pretty much ruined.

I must praise British Gas, who sent out a plumber within about an hour of my distress call (they must have caught the note of panic in my voice); he quickly sorted out the pipe problem in the roof, but of course the bulk of the damage was done by the water that had already flowed.

Anyway, we've now got a load of dehumidifiers in the house, a new bed on order, and just waiting to get everything dried out and cleaned up.

Another thank you to Legal & General from whom we already have a cheque for the new bed (la D must have been especially convincing on the phone to them).

The worry is that if it had happened when we were both out, the house would have been absolutely ruined.

Still, panic over, and we live to fight another day...

My funny Valentine (the song)

I recently became interested in the song 'My funny Valentine', partly because Matt Giraud sang it on American Idol (unfairly, I thought, he got knocked out that week) and also because there was a film on TV about Chet Baker, the jazz musician who was one of the leading performers of the song.

Baker was known, I suppose, for three things: his music (trumpet and singing), the fact that he was fabulously good looking in his younger days, and his dissolute lifestyle (he took enormous quantities of drugs, mainly heroin). The film, 'Let's get lost', portrayed him at the age of about 58 (shortly before he died, falling out of a hotel window). He was very lined after all the years of hard living, but still good looking in a wasted sort of way. His musicianship, amazingly, was still strong.

Anyway, this led me to listen to his recording of MFV: singing it, although he also played it on the trumpet many times. It's a haunting performance. He has an incredibly gentle voice. It's like a woman's voice, not because it's high in pitch, but because of the softness, the caressing quality he has. That seems right for the song, which was originally meant to be sung by a woman.

Strangely enough, the next version of the song up on Youtube was the one by Nico, which is weird in the opposite direction, Nico was a very beautiful woman, but her voice was very deep, easily mistakable for a man's. She also had a troubled life, although I don't think she took the amount of drugs that Chet did.

Here are the three versions:

Matt Giraud

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaUQ6i4kO6w

Chet Baker

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvXywhJpOKs

Nico

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1xplddbEnY

Our day out

Out for the BH with la Duchesa and the Dowager.

We were heading for a National Trust property called Clandon Park, in Surrey.

My method of getting there was to use my SatNav and enter the postcode of the house.

SN ordered me to turn right, but it didn't look like a proper turning, just someone's driveway.

We go past, turn back, go past it again, turn back again.

This time I think I'll give it a go.

We go under an arch and out onto a tiny little country road: really just a dirt track.

Anyway, it did lead us to the house in the end.

Quite an enjoyable visit.

The restauarant ignored the NT's Golden Rule (Thou shalt provide quiche salad) but we had the steak and ale pie, which was pretty good.

Overall, a nice day out.

The divine Duchess

La Duchesa in a slightly waspish mood recently.

I came home the other night very tired: I'd had to drive to Milton Keynes no less!

I just said "I'm really tired"

La D's response: "So would I be if I was carrying all that weight"

Nice one, as they say...

Fat people (like me) on TV

I'm fat (well, I like to think fattish).

I'm not proud of it, and I'd rather be thin, but still...

There's one thing that really annoys me about the way fat people are shown on TV (especially on the news).

When there's an item on (eg) obesity, they illustrate it with a picture of some fat people-walking along, eating, maybe...

The thing is, though, they never show their faces, and they quite often just show the torso.

What are they saying by doing this?

Two things: firstly, fat people don't have a face, an identity. They don't have jobs, families, interests, etc, like other people: they're just a big, consuming gut.

Secondly, they should be ashamed. It's shameful to be fat, so we won't show their faces, so as not to embarass them.

End of rant!

I think I'll have a nice bringe

There's a thing I've noticed people indulging in (probably including me) which I'll call 'a bringe': it's half-way between a brag and a whinge.

What it is, is when you appear to be complaining about how dreadful your life is, but actually you're showing off.

Example 1:

'Oh, it's dreadful to be as thin as I am. I can really feel my bones poking through, and it's terrible getting clothes small enough'.

Which really means: 'Look how skinny I am! isn't it wonderful? not like you, you fat bitch!'

Example 2:

'I get invited to so many weddings, it's such a pain. There's having to take time off work, the cost of a present, maybe a few days for a stag or hen weekend-what a nonsense!'

Meaning: 'Oh look, I know all these young, attractive people who are getting married. And they want me there! not like you, you sad loser!'

Snow day for fun

Pretty much a white-out outside this morning, with all sorts of dire warnings about the dangers of leaving your house unless you absolutely have to.

Nonetheless, I decided to set out for work (with 2 coats, a jacket, and an overnight bag with 2 changes of clothes in the car).

I did about 10 miles before deciding to turn back: firstly because it seemed to be getting worse, secondly it seemed likely that I wouldn't be able to get home even if I got to work.

Of course, I still don't have my laptop computer from work, as the Is from IT are still working on it.

Still managed to do a bit of work, though, using my own PC and emails.

Saturday night, we watched the 'Song for Europe' thingy.

Jade was a worthy winner, but I'm not sure how she'll go down on Eurovision: can't be worse than last year's, of course, and the Andrew Lloyd-Webber song was an ALW song, if that's the sort of thing you like.

I was amused by the 'cleaning up' of Jade's song 'Lady Marmalade', with 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi' changed to 'Voulez-vous chantez avec moi'. I suppose the young kids who might be watching at that time need protecting against any suggestion of impropriety, but how many of them have a good enough grasp of French? Anyway, isn't the whole point of the song that it's about a prostitute?

The cleaning up issue seems to depend very much on which channel as well as what time, with QI (BBC1) using an enormous amount of bleeping while Gordon Ramsey (Ch 4) seems to be under contract to use at least 1 (unbleeped) 'F' word per minute on all his programmes.

The IdioTs in IT

Work has been immensely frustrating these last two days.

We've had a virus infection, as a result of which they've shut down the computer network.

Result: I only have the use of my own machine: no email, no access to any commonly held data.

In terms of work, we're at a standstill, and I've come home early both days.

On a happier note, the meal was fine, although La D (in a foul mood) banned me from future kitchen adventures on the grounds of a couple of trivial sins. That'll all be forgotten next time she fancies a risotto, I'm sure.

Cooking tonight

I've been asked to star as guest chef in the home kitchen.

I shall of course do my 'signature dish', ie risotto, which La Duchesa particularly enjoys.

Of course, the thing I really enjoy about cooking is that I drink a large quantity of wine while doing it...

A follower: at last!

Like Jesus Christ with John the Baptist (is this quite correct ? :Ed), I have my first follower-and such a good one (the lady who inspired me to blog in the first place). Must mind the old Ps and Qs now.

Anyway, just thought I'd mention a couple of wrongly heard song lyrics which are (IMHO) as good as or better than the original.

There's

"'Scuse me while I kiss the sky" (Jimi Hendrix) which can easily be heard as "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy": surely a line just as redolent of the hedonism of the 60s as the 'real' one.

Also

"Going down the old mine with a transistor radio" (Van Morrison) which I genuinely thought for years was actually "Gunning down the old man with a transistor radio": which of us hasn't done that in their imagination?

Something a bit saucy

As I may have mentioned before, nobody ever reads this.

I have the theory that the only reason someone picks up on a blog is if there's something ABS on it.

So if I write

"Put out some food for our chickens today. Trouble is, the most enormous cock came along and ate all the food I'd put out"

lots of people would probably pick up on it (Googling "our chickens", of course).