I put my new camera through its paces at the weekend. What? I never told you about my new camera? Some other time perhaps. I made a little video. Note how nonchalantly I say that. I make it sound easy, don't I? You have absolutely no idea. The nonsense I'm having to learn about different video formats, resolutions, frame rates, and crap like that, you wouldn't believe me.
Anyway, I dedicate this video to Sony Music, on account of the fact that version one of said video included a rather beautiful piece of classical guitar backing music. But YouTube detected that I might have breached some Sony copyright or other, so I took it down. So, instead of getting a free plug for one of their CDs, Sony is going to have to do without—and you get to hear my video au naturelle, just as Nature intended. (That would be the video which is au naturelle, obviously, not you. Or at least I hope not.)
Guitar? Schmitar! Dig all that white noise:
Those of you with fast broadband connections can view the video in high definition here (select 720p at the bottom of the video).
I'm not a particularly patriotic chap. I like England to win at the rugby (best not mention yesterday), I think it's great that Charles Darwin was one of ours, and, as far as I'm concerned, I live on the most beautiful island on the planet. But I also happen to think that the union flag is pretty damn tacky, I couldn't give a flying toss about how crap our overpaid soccer team is doing yet again, and I cringe with embarrassment every time I hear the opening chords of the national anthem—it's the Twenty-First Century, for Christ's sake!
My mate Fitz rightly points out that it would be ridiculous for me to feel proud of being English/British. I didn't have any say in the matter; I just happened to be born where I was. I also happen to have been born with two legs, but I don't feel particularly proud of them. Actually, that's a bad example, as I have a particularly fine pair of legs, but you catch my general drift.
But every now and again, I come across something which gets me right there. Something which tugs at my latent patriotic heart-strings. Something which makes me cry out, "YES, THAT IS US! WE ARE BRITISH. WE ARE BETTER THAN YOU, AND I AM PROUD OF IT!"
Something like this:
WE ARE BRITISH! HEAR US ROAR!
Let it not be said that our political representatives never say anything sensible:
Guardian Science Blog: MPs deliver their damning verdict: Homeopathy is useless and unethical
Today the Science and Technology Select Committee delivered its verdict on homeopathy and it was devastating. The committee has called for the complete withdrawal of NHS funding and official licensing of homeopathy.
Hurrah! So, of course, the funding will be withdrawn immediately…
Oh no, that's right, there's a General Election in the offing. Do you really think the government is going to withdraw funding for quack homeopathic treatment, when hundreds of thousands of idiots swear by the stuff? That's hundreds of thousands of voting idiots.
Do me a favour. Should any politican come canvassing at your door in the next couple of months, ask them about their position on NHS funding for homeopathy. Then listen to them not answering the question.
We still have some way to go.
I heard it on the radio first: John Terry has been stripped of the England captaincy by Capello!
Yes, that's right: someone I had never heard of had been removed as 'England captain' by someone else I had never heard of for bending one into the ex-girlfriend of a team-mate.
For those of you as baffled as I was, John Terry, it turns out, is—or, rather, was—the England Men's Soccer team captain. In other words, an overpaid, coiffured softie who can kick a ball. Apparently, captain is official BBC short-hand for men's soccer captain.
Meanwhile, in real sports news, the 2010 Six Nations Championship opens today.
(That would be men's rugby union, for the totally clueless.)
I see Carolyn's left hand has finally made it on to the BBC North East Wales Weblog.
(I knew her before she was famous, you know.)
For reasons I don't need to go into, earlier this week I found myself watching this American gentleman's video on how to fellate a fish:
…actually, perhaps I do need to go into it.
There were some wild sea bass on sale in Tesco, so I bought one. But I rather stupidly forgot to ask the Tesco fishmonger to remove the guts. So, never having done so before, I found myself having to consult YouTube on how to scale and gut a fish. Having seen how to do it properly, I ended up inventing my own way.
Now that I have gone through the process of gutting one, I have finally worked out what it is that I most like about fish:
Their outsides.
This from the ever-practical Homeopathy World Community:
Yes, that ought to sort things out.
Here, in case you missed it, is Mitchell and Webb's take on emergency homeopathy in action:
Some say that Grutness is a state of mind, but, as I was recently delighted to read in Tim Dee's excellent book The Running Sky, it is also a place:
Imagine my even greater delight when I realised that I have actually been within 600 yards of Grutness. In March 1985, some archaeological colleagues and I paid a very wet visit to the nearby ancient settlement of Jarlshof.
Apparently, the name Grutness is from the Old Scandanavian grjót nes, meaning gravel promontory.
So, there you have it: Gruts means gravels.
What does Grutness mean to you chaps?
I went to buy a book in Waterstones this week. Its recommended retail price was £25, but there was a sticker on the front saying there was £9 off. Woo-hoo!
The girl on the checkout zapped the book. "Oh, the computer hasn't taken the £9 off!" she said, and she walked away.
I watched open-mouthed as the girl returned a minute later with a pocket calculator and began to punch in a calculation.
"It's £16," I said: "twenty-five minus nine is sixteen."
"You're right!" the girl said, clearly impressed. "I'm hopeless at maths." I didn't say that I could tell.
"The trick is to take off ten and add one," I said. The girl looked at me as if I was from another planet. "Taking off ten and adding one is the same as taking off nine, but it's easier," I tried to explain. The girl looked back at me blankly.
So I paid my money and left.
Thinking about it afterwards, I should have pointed out that 9, 16 and 25 represent the squares on the sides on a classic Pythagorean 3, 4, 5 triangle.
That should have made it a lot easier.
In celebration of the Good Captain's 69th birthday:
(Anyone else recognise the bearded roadie at 5 minutes and 21 seconds?)
Man, I feel rough this morning. Can't have been the booze last night: I was remarkably restrained (for me).
Must have been something I ate.
Happy New Year, everyone.
