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Today, Saturday, I built a firewood storage unit out of old pallet wood. It’s another of my ‘jazz’ woodworking projects, in that I just winged it, without making any plans.

Making it up as you go along can be fun. Of course, you run the risk of screwing up more. And I did make one or two mistakes. But all things considered, I’m pleased with how it’s come out.

I had hoped to finish it in one day. But it’s late Saturday evening, and I haven’t done the ‘roof’. In fact I can’t, as I don’t have the necessary timber. I think I’ll pop out early Sunday morning and buy it, if I can. I might try and get the ‘lid’ on it before my mum and her husband arrive, for lunch.

Sunday now, and as can be seen, it’s done. Super basic! I watched a few YouTubers making some far more fancy stuff. That was fun. But I decided I hadn’t got the time or the resources to do anything snazzy. Hopefully this’ll prove fit for purpose?

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Paella #4, on the hob.

Sunday afternoon mum and Malcolm came over for lunch. We walked along the river bank, round the park, and then back. ‘Twas a gorgeous sunny day. Then Teresa showed them around whilst I cooked.

I got mum to take a snap of Teresa and me, partly ’cause we’re rarely photographed together, and partly on account of our similar woolly apparel! Mum said she liked my ‘new look’, avec ‘tache and Fairisle sweater. Most gratifying!

I heard about this film via a program on BBC R4, several years ago: a British black and white road movie, with an allegedly cool soundtrack, and involvement from Wim Wenders and associates. Sounded good to me.

Okay, some of Wenders’ own films have proven to be either too dull or too bleak (or both, like The Wrong Move), but Paris Texas is a masterpiece, and I remember really enjoying Kings Of The Road. Radio On sounded like a home-grown version of the latter, so I figured it was worth a punt. Hearing that Sting had a cameo role – and this was back in’79, the year of The Police’s second album (and first full-on classic), Regatta De Blanc – only added to the film’s allure.

Now in young-ish middle age, I find that whilst my own taste for art-house cinema is only a little diminished, very few other people I know seem to have any stomach for it. I don’t mind watching films on my own, and used to love doing so. But nowadays I prefer to watch in company. Consequently this DVD languished, unwatched, for a couple of years.

I finally persuaded my wife that we should watch it the other day: give art-house cinema a chance, I pleaded. The argument against essentially boiled down to the likelihood it’d be depressing, boring, or perhaps even both. And with a sad predictability, despite this being in some respects a highly unusual film, it was.

Regarding the oft-vaunted music: I love a lot of different music. You could say I have something of a ‘Jones’ for it, being a musician, music teacher and occasional music journalist myself. But I have to confess that, by and large, Petit’s taste in music, more than simply leaving me cold, grates. But his choices certainly fit the alienated and depressed ambience of the ‘electric world’ alluded to in a rather self-conscious and pretentious sounding note we see pinned to the wall at the films commencement.

The opening shot kind of sets up the movie: slow and depressing. Slow moving downbeat films are often fine with me. But here it simply doesn’t work. A naked body is glanced in a bath as a camera moves round a dimly lit flat: my immediate thought, in this particular type of filmic context was, ‘uh-oh, suicide’. And sure enough… well, I won’t go into any ‘plot’ spoilers.

Leaving aside the cheery themes of suicide and alienation, there are some redeeming elements to the film, such as the photography of late ’70s Britain. Petit’s vision of Britain at this point in time is both bleakly depressing, but also at times quite beautiful (Wenders and even more so Jim Jarmusch are masters of urban decay as aesthetic pleasure).

There are also some enjoyable ‘character’ moments: Sting, and the snotty little streetwise kid by the hotdog stand, were both strangely endearing, the former wonderfully charismatic as a music-obsessed garage attendant, and the latter both sad and hilarious, a poignant reminder of the tragedy of youthful hipness. But the leaden taciturnity that predominates throughout most of this film is pretty oppressive.

One final thing: were the German language sections of the dialogue left un-subtitled to enhance the films sense of alienation? Or is it just an oversight type of omission? On my DVD there were only two subtitle options, hard of hearing and German. The German subtitles appear to be subtitles for German viewers (this was a joint British/German production), with captions for both the English and German language elements. The hard of hearing English subtitles simply put up text in the same language that’s being spoken, meaning a non-German speaker is still left guessing re the German language parts. There is also no chapter selection option in the menu, which is, in my experience, as unusual as it is unhelpful.

This could have been a great film, but it simply doesn’t have, for me at any rate, that certain something. In relation to mainstream cinema it certainly has the potential to interest, simply because it’s so different. But in the context of alternative film it’s quite disappointingly predictable, albeit that that’s meant more so in ‘vibe’ terms than plot-wise. But as other reviewers note, the plot, grim and thin as it is, seems subservient to mood. Also, as one gets older, it appears to me to be a trend that the charm of such mawkish art-house fare loses its shine.

Why can’t we have more black and white road movies that charm and uplift, like some of Jim Jarmusch’s early films? Stranger Than Paradise and Down By Law would be perfect examples, being oddball and art-house, but also beautiful, funny and uplifting. Certainly that’s how Wenders’ Kings Of The Road struck me when I saw it. Mind you, I was around 18 then, and as long ago as that was, I do remember a potential suicide bid being part of the story. Perhaps I should watch it again and see how it stands up now?

Radio On, however, was a major disappointment. I wanted to like it, but I didn’t.

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* In this Radio On has something in Common with Abel Gance’s 1927 Napoléon; both yield up plentiful fantastically beautiful stills, but – for me at any rate – are nigh on unwatchable as films.

Teresa cued up an old Omnibus BBC programme on Stanley Spencer she’d found  on YouTube this morning. We both love his work, and have plans to visit his Sandham Memorial Chapel – the artist’s very personal commemoration of events of WWI, in which he served – as soon as can be arranged. It was an excellent programme, presented by Kirsty Wark, with David Bowie narrating!

Some time later this morning I went out to Sainsburys, probably around 10.30/11-ish. I wondered why there were so many people out and about. Then the preponderance of poppies, an unusual abundance of Boy Scouts, and noticeable numbers of older gentlemen with Service related items of apparel, all these things made me recall, belatedly… It’s Remembrance Day! And not any old Remembrance Day, but the centenary of the end of WWI.

On my short walk home from the supermarket I had an interesting encounter: a Scout dropped his Seven-Up drinks cup – the sort with a plastic lid with a straw through the middle – and made as if to move off. But then he stopped, looked back, and, seeing me approaching, returned and picked it up. I thought to myself, good old Baden Powell. It still means something to be a Scout. It’s a reminder to behave well, or better.

As I overtook the kid in question, he said hello. The people of March are a decent friendly lot, by and large, especially the older generations. It was really nice to have such behaviour from a young kid. He asked me if I’d seen the Parade. I was embarrassed to admit I hadn’t. But I chatted amicably with him about it all nonetheless.

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They Shall Not Grow Old

Much later in the day, I’m watching YouTube makers such as Pask Makes, and an ad plays – funny this, in light of my recent post about hating ads – that actually alerts me to something I am genuinely interested in: a colourised footage doc on WWI, by Peter Jackson. A quick Google at 9.25 pm reveals that the programme is due on BBC2 at 9.30.

Quickly make a hot chocolate, and get BBC iPlayer going on the iPad.

Usually I miss these things, finding out about them once they’ve been and gone. On this occasion I was very pleasantly surprised to be able to watch the programme as it aired. And it was/is good. Very, very good. Indeed, such excellence is a rare thing these days, and something to be savoured and treasured.

It certainly succeeded with me, in making me, if not much better informed (having watched and read a fair bit on WWI before), then at least much more interested and involved. My interests in history in general and military history in particular are Napoleonic, WWII, and ACW, in that order.

My pal Paul, due round for dinner and a movie tomorrow evening, is well into his WWI stuff, saying he finds it more interesting than WWII. I’ve never really felt that way. I do like how the uniforms and tech evolve from ye olde 19th Century style, all colourful uniforms and cavalry, etc, to the drab hues of khakis, buffs, beiges and greys, along with the quantum leaps forward signalled by the arrival of tanks and planes, and so on.

This post is here as my own personal slant on my Remembrance Sunday. It’s something I once actively boycotted, in my then anti-war hippy-ish manner. But now I’m with all those, and they cover a wide range of views and feelings, who believe we really should remember these incredible times and events. For a more detailed response to Peter Jackson’s incredible film, take a look here, at the post about the film on my mini-military hobbies blog.

I’ve seen these colourised things done before, and usually not really liked them. This, however, is done so extremely well, it really does bring these century old events across time, so that they feel nearer and closer. Superb!

After the negativity of my previous post, I thought I ought to bring some love. So, here are a few links to and thoughts about some of the many YouTubers and/or Bloggers I’ve been enjoying of late.

My most recent discoveries are predominantly ‘makers’, as they’re known these days, and include these guys:

Uri Tuchman, an inventive German with excellent English, and a delightfully laconic way of going about things. I’ve enjoyed quite a few of his videos. But perhaps my favourite is the engraved hammer, as shown above.

Only just discovered this guy, whose output goes under the name of Trustin Timber, literally today, via the above video. It was the mention of Roy Underhill (how cool is that Tolkienian surname!?), who’s an old-timer by comparison with Trustin Timber, and who I also only discovered very recently, that made me watch. He – TT, that is – has a short ‘intro’ video (here), where he explains his background/philosophy a little. And I dig it.

Going back a bit further into my discoveries, there’s this chap:

… a very groovy video, made by what appears to be a very groovy guy, calling himself the Homestead Craftsman. And then of course there’s Roy Underhill himself:

I’ve ordered a nice old edition of one of Mr Underhill’s classic books (Woodwright’s Shop: Exploring Traditional Woodcraft), as an Xmas gift from Teresa. He’s some kind of dude! Very witty, very stylish, and a goldmine of the ‘old ways’. A real inspiration. The above video is an interview with Mr Underhill (formerly of Bag End… or not) on another guy’s YouTube channel.

And then there’s Brit abroad, Neil Pask, who’s based in Australia:

The above is one of Pask’s many superb and inspiring videos, and happens to be amongst my favourite, in part perhaps because it’s one of the few projects by a YouTube ‘maker’ that I’ve attempted to do myself. Like Neil, I love dowels!

Shortly after discovering Pask Makes, I stumbled upon James Wright, another excellent and inspiring maker. As with Pask, I’ve even dared to try my hand at a project inspired by James, namely my recent saw-bench build. Indeed, I was making kindling for our fire-pit today, using the saw-bench. It works a real treat. I love these guys and the whole YouTube maker movement!

In the end, I think we can go all the way back to two Canadian dudes (poss both of Germanic descent?), Heisz and Wandel:

That’s John Heisz and Matthias Wandel. I love the above video, from one of John Heisz’s numerous YouTube channels. It’s not one of his many, many superb build videos, but rather one of his chattier ones. And I totally relate to it. The interweb is such a great development for folks of this sort, as it provides a wonderful virtual community that really does provide succour and inspiration for the stay-at-home introvert creative type.

Matthias Wandel is great as well. I’m not sure how we’d get on in the flesh, as he’s a spiky, geeky kind of chap, and you can see how this manifests in his chemistry with John Heisz, both of them being ornery independently minded type guys, capable of bordering on contrarian at times. But Wandel’s spot on in this video, explaining why slick TV or cinema style content isn’t as popular as the home-made indie stuff.

A clever, witty inventive chap, with all sorts of interesting output. I’d dearly like to build a pantorouter at some point. And even more so, one of his robust bandsaw designs.

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As can be plainly seen, all the above are workshop kind of guys, making stuff. And I’ve been really getting into all of that over the last year or two. In part because my wife and I have bought our first home all of our own, and there’s lots that needs doing.

There are numerous others I could mention, such as Marius Hornberger (see above; I drove to Devon/Cornwall and bought me a Kity 636 after watching this vid), Jeremy Schmidt, Cosmas Bauer, Matt Eastlea, and so on.

And it’s not purely this kind of stuff I’ve been watching, I had a phase of getting into documentaries on serial-killers, which was a bit of an aberration, plus more normal topics for me, such as drumming, music in general, and all sorts of other stuff, wargaming and model-making, art, films, all sorts. But for this post I’m sticking to my recent ‘maker’ phase.

As far as I can, I always mute TV ads, when they come on. I often wonder if most people might think me odd for doing so.

I’d be happy living without a TV, and have done so on several occasions. Not so Teresa, my wife. We went without for a while whilst moving homes. But in the end, Teresa wanted TV, so we did Freeview for a while. However, the cheap Freeview box Teresa bought – I refused to spend any money on TV media – was rubbish.

We’d been getting by without an internet service provider or home phone as well. But in the end I caved in, and we went with a Virgin package. Much to my chagrin, as I swore after our last bout with them, never agin!

Anyroad… even with all the channels we now have on our Virgin deal, with broadband and a phone line, there’s practically nothing I can ever find that I want to watch.

I do watch YouTube on the TV sometimes. Indeed, I’m more likely to watch YouTube than ‘proper’ TV. I suppose most TV has probably always been junk. But it seems to me that the percentage of brainless crud is higher than ever.

I do know, from experience, that I can quite easily get sucked in to watching loads of garbage, and I might even find myself quite enjoying some of it. The thing is, I feel there are sooo many other and better things one could be doing. But this post is not about the programmes on TV, it’s about the advertising.

I’ve never really liked adverts. I’ve had short spells where I’m less averse to them than currently. The way I see it, watching adverts is like letting loudmouthed sales-people into your home, to harangue you with their patter. I wouldn’t do that! I suspect most people wouldn’t. Why let them in via my TV?

Even though the BBC is not all it once was – I might think of the Attenborough at the helm of BBC2 period as a probable peak – maybe it was never really as good as my memories suggest? Certainly these days it seems dominated by a dumbed down populist agenda, and almost as vapid as any other media outlet.

But it does remain ad-free. And for that alone it should be cherished. Of course the content could and should be better. Then it’d be more worth cherishing. But it seems to me a part of our cultural heritage we allow to wither away at our peril. [1]

But getting back to adverts. One of many reasons I dislike the kind of neo-Marxist-po-mo-ne’erdowells I had to endure as lecturers on my degree at Goldsmiths (not all of ’em, thankfully), apart from the utter guff that comprised much of their so-called philosophy, was that many of the beloved writers of such claptrap seemed to love advertising.

Although I find comedian Bill Hicks rather too dark and depressing overall, he does have several threads he returns to that I quite like. One of these is his hatred of advertising. In the spirit of the dead comedian, and in a departure from my usual preference for mild-mannered politeness, this is my message for the world of advertising in general, and current TV advertising in particular:

Having said all this, I do find I can enjoy vintage adverts. I think this is due to them no longer being a contemporaneous attempt to manipulate me/the viewer. And this distancing effect defuses the quality I find most repulsive, allowing me to be able to ‘enjoy’ them as the type of cultural artefacts folks like Roland Barthes might have reveries over.

And one of the fundamentals of why I hate a lot of advertising generally, but TV (and online or cinema) advertising in particular, is that we, the viewer are treated as, and frequently portrayed as, gormless idiots. Without the loving handholding corporations to direct us, we’d just be dribbling into our crotches on our sofas.

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NOTES:

[1] Peter Hitchens is, in my view, a pretty insufferable cock, but in spite of this, I find myself agreeing, in essence, with his views on the ‘Decline and Fall of the BBC‘. I must add that simply because I add a link to this content does not mean I endorse it. First Things is a religious and conservative organ.

[2] I couldn’t find any pics of the ads I was looking for, and this one isn’t the best example, as it is very entertaining. But I hate unison dancing, or unison anything for that matter. It always makes me think of storm troopers goose-stepping. It’s one of the many things that makes me allergic to any form of organised religion; not formation dancing, per se, but conformist behaviour.

[3] Creativity and humour are to be found, of course, albeit in varying degrees, in advertising of all sorts. And sometimes the ‘pure’ information communication of advertising can be relatively neutral, and therefore less prone to make me nauseous. The rose-tinted effect of nostalgia can also allow me to enjoy older ads. But what’s crucial is that the passage of time has defused the weapon of psychological manipulation.

The Complete Columbo DVD set, in faux cigar case.

Teresa’s the one who usually likes her murder-mystery TV shows. I do love Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, and I can occasionally enjoy a bit of Suchet Poirot with her, but I wouldn’t generally choose to watch the latter on my own.

Columbo, on the other hand, the rumpled but earnest antithesis of Hercule, but with equal capacity in the little grey cells department, I do choose to watch, on my own or in company, even though it’s ultimately pretty much just as formulaic as any Agatha Christie. Just a different formula.

One of the conceits that makes it work so well, for me, is the way it plays in reverse, with the audience seeing the crime at the outset, and then following Columbo, as he appears to bumble along, piecing the jigsaw of events together, until he nails his culprit.

Of course a major part of the charm of Columbo is Peter Falk himself. He is, in phrases I once read used to describe Burt Bacharach, ‘impeccably dishevelled’, and ‘rumpled yet earnest’. Equally important are the villains, and their chemistry with Columbo, and, to a lesser extent, the victims.

Actors like Patrick McGoohan and William Shatner, who I knew of before, and Jack Cassidy and Robert Culp, who were new to me, and even Falk’s curvaceous beauty of a wife, Shera Danese, all make repeat appearances in Columbo’s cases. And many other great actors, some well known, some less so, help make this a superb series.

Between 1968 and 2003, with some breaks, a total of 69 episodes of Columbo were made, mostly roughly between 70-100 minutes long. But with a number of longer ‘feature’ length episodes and specials. Over those years it evolved and changed in some ways, whilst remaining static in others.

Falk’s character didn’t really change, nor did his M.O, nor the overall structure of the narrative. But fashions in clothes, decor, music, and just the general vibe/ambience, these are all discernibly metamorphosing.

I had a primary school teacher, Mrs McKechnie, who dressed exactly like these ladies. I wonder what’s become of her?

Don’t look down! Columbo can’t quite bring himself to put his big, fat cigar in his mouth. Roddy MacDowell? Rod by name, and by nature.

Ah, the white suit with jumbo collars and cravat, a ‘classic’ look. Dangerous in high winds. Those long pointy collars will either have an eye out, or possibly help you fly.

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In exploring the world of Columbo I discovered an excellent blog/website, called Columbophile. I don’t intend to compete with them! But I probably will be expanding the scope of this post occasionally, or adding other Columbo-related posts. Although I’m tempted, I’m not sure I’ll go as far as getting us our own bassett-hound.

NOTES:

[1] Cassidy died not long after this, his final appearance in Columbo, when, home alone and having hit the bottle, his cigarette started the fire that would kill him.

Today I was mainly tidying up books, getting all our art books onto the upgraded shelves in the lounge, and all my Napoleonic books on the shelves at the top of the apples’n’pears.

Aside from moving books around – I got loads out of our bedroom and into the guest room – I also painted the door of the workshop. It was really because the sill is rotten, and swollen with rainwater. I spent a while yesterday with a hairdryer, drying the sill out, filing it down, drying it again, and then repeating, until it was both pretty dry and the door actually closed. Prior to this it was sticking at the bottom, and I was having to kick the door to open it.

It’s a lovely rich oily paint, and a beautiful colour. I need to let it dry for a few more hours this evening. I’ll shut it before turning in for the night. I might also paint the window frames in this colour. I’ll need to tidy up the blue a bit, as I was rather slapdash with the door and frame, what with painting in the dark!

The sill is in such a sorry state I might cut it out altogether, and insert something better. Perhaps an oaken plank? But at least it’s been painted. In fact I also treated the timber with something for rot… can’t recall exactly what? We’ll have to wait and see if the treatment and paint ‘cure’ it!

Well, no Farmacy Kitchen food tonight after all. Instead, Paella #3. This time I really browned the chicken off nicely. I left out chorizo altogether, added a bit more paprika,  and substituted asparagus for artichoke. Turned out really well. I got a fab socarrat at the bottom of the pan. Delish!

Bought a £5 Rioja from Sainsburys, to go mit der paella, and it was nice enough. They had some Armagnac on offer as well, which seduced me. Had a wee dram, and jolly nice it was to.

Didn’t do anything of great significance in the DIY domain today, other than tidy up the shed a bit, mostly bringing in FC windows/window-frames, so as not to ruin them by leaving them outside too long. They’re destined for the art and music studio build, at some future point. Might use some of ’em in finishing the greenhouse… dunno!?

And I put a second coat of Liberon Finishing Oil on the saw-bench as well. I’ll do one more coat tomorrow. And then that’s done. Was going to let a Teresa use it as a table for a bit. But I’ll make her a dedicated one, and get my saw-bench into the workshop.

Over the recent half-term I was getting a bit lazy and indulgent, inasmuch as I’d be working hard on decorating, DIY or woodworking stuff, and I’d figure I’d earned the right for lunch out.

I had lunch in an American style diner one time, the local Wetherspoons – formerly the Hippodrome cinema – at least twice, and although I can’t recall anywhere else offhand, I suspect it wasn’t just thrice in all.

So it’s become almost a reflex to want to pop out and spend money, despite my not having any. I decided therefore that today, I’d cook my own lunch. When I do this, it’s often just a sandwich. Or, if it involves heat/work, then it’ll often be cheese on toast, or beans and a fried egg. That sort of stuff.

Today it was three slices of toast, two with cheese, one with a fried-egg, and beans liberally slathered atop the lot. A steaming cup of tea, and a recipe book, to contemplate dinner plans, and I’m happy.

The book I casually picked up was the Farmacy Kitchen cookbook. Although the author says she’s not trying to convert anyone, such earnest healthiness as she espouses does have the effect of making me, a former vegetarian myself, feel somewhat guilty or disapproved of.

I look at my cheddar cheese on white bread toast, my egg and beans, and the phrase ‘conscious living’ has me imagining the possible sufferings of the cows, from whom the milk for the cheese came, or the chickens that laid our eggs. And my ‘umble lunch doesn’t even have meat in it!

And then there’s the Berty quote, visible in my second snap, above. I didn’t know Herr One-Stone was a veggie!? [1] The funny thing is, however, that whilst I agree with author Camilla Fayed, that we ought to be conscious in both our living and our shopping/cooking/eating (plus it’s difficult to do these things whilst asleep!*), I’m not sure I agree with her or Albert more broadly.

Part of my reasoning is related, oddly enough, given that Ms. Fayed herself claims that ‘Nature knows best’, to what some snipers shoot down as the ‘natural fallacy’ [2]. But as I don’t want to get into essay length discquisitions of a philosophical nature – not on this occasion (I often do!) – I’ll just conclude this brief post by thanking Fayed for her ‘food for thought’.

I may even go a step further, and cook/prepare one of her recipes tonight. Tuesdays have become a ‘Seb cooks’ night of late. It all started with a paella I cooked, Omar Allibhoy style, a few Tuesdays back.

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* Joke! I know she’s talking about a different kind of consciousness, man…

[1] I subsequently read that he converted to vegetarianism in his last year of life.

[2] There’s a whole mish-mash of stuff this can be related to, from the ‘naturalistic fallacy’ of philosophy, to the commonplace of certain threads in popular culture where, um… nature knows best!

Today I finished painting the downstairs lounge in Cupcake. I may do a bit more, and make the rear wall of the fireplace end of the room (just visible at left, behind the guitar, in the pic above) Cupcake as well, instead of the yellowy-orange we inherited from Clive. But, for now, this means all the walls and other bits and bobs that were in the rather too pale and cold off-white are in the new nicer, warmer colour.

I should’ve taken before and after pics of the under-stairs area, as I stripped out some horrible plasterboard, loaded with Artex, which had been slathered on in Van-Gogh-feeling-seasick impasto swirls. That went to the dump, and I’ve left the underneath of the stairs as raw wood for now, as you can see.

I have possible plans brewing in my noggin, re putting some under stair built-in cupboards here, possibly even with an area for stowing the MX5 hardtop. But for now I just rearranged the furniture a tiny bit, swapping the table and desk/cabinet around, and moving the shoe boxes/rack over to where Teresa keeps all her shoes, under the window, by the radiator.

I’ve moved the tatty studio-armchair (covered with a very dark brown throw in the pic above, to the right of the lamp) tight up against the red sofa, where before there was a gap. This has meant the lamp had to come forward a few inches, so the base cleared the feet of the chairs.

I also moved the clock-mounting screw higher up the wall, so the clock is now well clear of the top of the lamp, where formerly it was too low, and partially obscured. Now we just need to get the clock cleaned and up and running. It’s interesting how in the daylight Cupcake looks like clotted cream, whereas in the evenings it appears to take on a richer more custardy colour.