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.