Bleats and Ramblings

Some days, no matter how hard you try, the words just don't wanna come. Today is one of those days. Personally, I blame the shitload of research on prostitution that I've had to do today (and will end up doing tomorrow and the next day and the next day...) - I could just do another feminist political uber-rant about how completely stupid some of the legislation around the subject is, but frankly I'd probably end up wanting to scratch out my own eyes as a result. My one consolation is that the police won't like about 98% of the recommendations that seem to be coming out of the "how to not end up like Ipswich" thing, so being the one who gets to deliver the news is a constant source of gleeful amusement when I want to throw myself out of the window after reading some of these reports (anarchy rulz!) But that kinda leaves me with the problem of "what to write about today?"

So after some half-arsed false starts, I decided to see what the hell happened on today's date in history, after I was reminded that Princess Diana was killed 13 years ago today. One quick Google later and I found some interesting titbits...

1745 - Bonnie Prince Charlie reaches Blair Castle
1897 - Thomas Edison patents his movie camera
1924 - Paavo Nurmi, the 'Flying Finn', runs the 10,000m in world record time
1978 - The Harris' plead guilty to the kidnap of heiress Patty Hearst
1985 - Capture of Richard Ramirez, the 'Night Stalker'

So, just a few of my favourite things, then - Scots, movies, Finns, psychology and serial killers! All summed up in one day...hey, what about my other great love, music? Let's see....

1957 - Elvis played Vancouver, the last time he would play outside the States before his death.
1963 - 'Be My Baby' by the Ronettes entered the charts, their first and only Top Ten hit.
1968 - First Isle of Wight festival!! What a line-up - The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, T-Rex, Jefferson Airplane...wheee!
1969 - The mighty Led Zeppelin played the Texas International Pop Festival with BB King and Janis Joplin. Zeppelin, Janis and BB King, POP?!?! Are you sure, Texas...?
1980 - Karen Carpenter got married.
1984 - Purple Rain, the movie starring Prince (or whatever the hell he calls himself these days) opened across the UK.
1986 - Bob Geldof married Paula Yates.
1987 - All known pre-order records were broken as 2.25 million copies of Michael jackson's 'Bad' were shipped to US record stores.
1991 - Guns 'n' Roses, Skid Row and NIN performed at Wembley, and Metallica started their four-week number one on the US album chart with 'Metallica'.
And Van Morrison, Rudy Schenker of the Scorpions, Glen Tillbrook of Squeeze and Del Marquis of the Scissor Sisters (among others) all celebrate birthdays today. As does my Gran. Marvy.

Right, that's enough rambling from me. Bed, I think...

Pomp and Circumstance, Pride and Pagentry

There are some things that we in this country will never do well, like being able to big ourselves up all the time as our Yankee cousins do, or win anything at a major football championships. (Come on, people, you know I'm right. As always). However, there are also some things that we do incredibly well, and pomp and pagentry is one of them. (Or should that be two?) Whether it's the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace pulling in the tourists or the solemn splendour of Remembrance Day; the pomp and circumstance of the Last Night of the Proms or the dignified reception the people of Wooton Basset give to our returning war dead, we Brits are bloody good at the required pagentry.

The reason I've been thinking about this today is because I've just watched the Edinburgh Royal Military Tattoo, always guaranteed to be an absolute showstopper and to bring a lump to the throat and a tear to the eye. Whenever I see something like this, the brave men and women of our Armed Forces parading in some form or another, I always feel incredibly humbled and very, very proud (even of you, Rob, despite the fact that you pick on me terribly!) But something like the Tattoo, in particular, also makes me feel very un-English.

I know, shocking admission, right? But while I can get all fired up for "Land of Hope and Glory" and "Rule Britannia" at the Proms, Jerusalem leaves me cold. Play me something Celtic-based, however; something Scottish or Irish; an air on the bagpipes, the passionate love letter of "Scotland the Brave" or the mournful beauty of "The Fields of Athenry" and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my skin prickles with goosebumps, tears start to my eyes and the lump forms in my throat. I am more moved on sporting occasions by "Ireland's Call", "The Soldier's Song" or "Flower of Scotland" than by "God Save the Queen" (and I an ardent Royalist!)

One possible explanation for this is, of course, the ancient Celtic blood that flows through my veins; another is the mysterious Irishman who haunts the family legends yet remains infuriatingly untraceable through the records. The third option, however, and one that is no less plausible, is that I was either Scottish or Irish (or both) in a past life. It would explain why for so many years I had a desperate, burning longing to visit Dublin, despite never having been there or knowing anyone who had been there, and why I felt so at home when I finally arrived; or why my spirit soared and my heart felt free when I set foot in the Highlands of Scotland.

Whatever the reason, though, it doesn't detract from the power of the Massed Bands of the Pipes and Drums, or from the dignity and courage of the service men and women of Britain's military. We may have thoroughly inept and crooked politicians who send them into illegal wars with limited equipment, but their bravery and sacrifice makes me fiercely patriotic and incredibly proud to be a Brit. As do the grand parades and military events such as Trooping the Colour or the Edinburgh Tattoo, that we do better than any other country in the world...

River Rushing...

Last night (or 2 nights ago, as it's now technically Monday morning - doesn't time fly when you're surfing t'internet?) for the first time in many years I sat and watched Stand By Me, the 1986 Rob Reiner film based on a Stephen King novella. I absolutely love the film, but it's one of those ones that I almost have to force myself to watch; not because of its content or because I can't stand it (quite the opposite), but because every time I see it, I'm reminded again of the tragic death of River Phoenix and how much talent he had...

All four of the young leads in Stand By Me are talented, and very much of their time and generation, but it was River who was the stand-out performer by about a country mile. It seems to be the most ironic thing in the world that so many of the great writers, actors and musicians I've grown up admiring have died far too early, either through self-inflicted means (Kurt Cobain and Sylvia Plath, for example), accidental overdoses (Heath Ledger) or drugs (Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, River...) There seems to be some bizarre law of the universe that states that it is almost impossible for someone so gifted, so talented, with such a state of genius, to be able to live a normal, happy and healthy life: something always has to come along and screw it up, whether that be tragedy in their personal lives or their own untimely death when, like Heath and like River before him, they still had so much to give. And everytime I watch Stand By Me in particular (although Running On Empty, Indiana Jones and My Own Private Idaho also have this effect), I find myself sobbing at the wasted talent, his tragic death and of course the film itself. It is without a doubt (in my humble opinion at least) one of the greatest films ever made, and this is probably one of my favourite moments in the whole thing...



Of course, I have to declare a conflict of interest here. Not only did I grow up full of admiration for River's talents as an actor and musician, and for his stance on all things animal rights, environmental and political, but I was sort of a sucker for his looks, too. I know it's trite and it's shallow but it's true; for the love of the Gods, I was only eleven years old when he passed away after all, and the hormones were starting to kick in! But because I was so young, it was mainly after his death that I was left to rue what might have been and, yes, to mourn the beauty (physical, emotional and acting-wise) that had been taken from us. To this day, my heart breaks when I watch the campfire scene from 'My Own Private Idaho' for example, or the bit in 'Running On Empty' where his character sneaks into his girlfriend's house...River just shone out from the screen, completely mesmerising and utterly heartbreaking all at the same time.



So come Halloween, I shall make the time (amongst all the other festivities and ceremonies) to curl up with plenty of tissues and watch something River-related to honour his memory. It had better only be the one film, though; there aren't enough tissues in the world that could sustain me for the full 'Stand By Me, Running On Empty, My Own Private Idaho' cycle...may the Gods bless you, River, wherever you are...

I Enjoy Being A Girl...

...except on days like these, when my hormones appear to be all over the place. Dearest hormones, please kindly bugger off and stop making me think and feel the most ridiculous things at the most inopportune moments...

Exhibit A - making me cry like a mad woman at a kids film - a friggin' kids film!! - in front of said kiddies. Yeah, cos that wasn't embarrassing...

Exhibit B - making me weep and wail over the programme about gorillas. All fine and dandy when locked in the privacy of your own room; much less genius when in the presence of others at their house.

Exhibit C - the 'inappropriate' thoughts about 'inappropriate' people. Now I know why I suddenly like cricket - you can stop that right now, y'hear me?

Exhibit D - making me sob with fury over Jenson getting booted out of the Grand Prx today, and making me further sob when poxy Hamilton won.

Exhibit E - reducing me to a blubbering wreck over the kindness of certain friends, who were completely taken aback when their kind words produced a torrent of water to rival the Danube in full flood.

And that's just in the past 24 hours, and does not include the general weepiness throughout 'Stand By Me' or the end of 'Carousel'. Yes, hormones, I really think you can sod off...

The Hills Are Alive...

...with something a little more lighthearted after yesterday's deep and political soap-box! I've just sat and watched the Rodgers and Hammerstein prom on the Beeb, and it reminded me just how many brilliant musicals the very talented Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein wrote together over the years. The King and I; The Sound of Music; South Pacific; Carousel...each one of these legendary films has some absolutely amazing songs and, although I think last year's MGM prom was better (mainly because, although I like the Rodgers and Hammerstein films, I love the old MGM musicals), it was just fantastic. I'd actually forgotten how beautiful some of the songs were; the Soliloquy from Carousel, for example, or how much fun it can be singing along to Oklahoma...damn, those films were good!!

I know 'the big one' is The Sound of Music, but that's actually nor my favourite R&H film (I know - sacrilege!) That honour either goes to Carousel, which makes me howl like a baby everytime I see it, or South Pacific; if I really think about it, I think Carousel just edges it. It has some of the most beautiful songs ever written for a musical, in my humble opinion (and believe me, I have seen a lot of musicals! I was brought up on them by my Nanna; I've seen almost all the Rodgers and Hammerstein ones and a helluva lot of the old MGM classics - ah, Showboat! How I do adore thee! - so I know my stuff here); if you don't have a tear in your eye when listening to the reprise of 'If I Loved You' and 'You'll Never Walk Alone' you are a philistine and should be attacked with bricks and things. I'll prove it...





If you don't know the plot, in the first video Julie (played by the ever-beautiful and talented Shirley Jones) is mourning her husband, Billy (the marvellous Gordon McRae), who was accidentally killed when he fell through some crates onto his own knife when cornered by the police; he and a friend of his had planned a robbery so that Billy, who had no job and no money, could provide for his unborn baby. In the second one, the reprise of 'If I Loved You', Billy's spirit has returned to earth to see his daughter graduate; his ghost, unseen, sings part of the duet that he and Julie sing earlier in the movie. By the time they sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone' again at the very end of the film, I'm usually to be found curled up in a ball sobbing pathetically. It's just the most beautiful film, and unusual because - although it's not a good musical unless there's a bit of tragedy in it - it was one of the first musicals to have a mainly-tragic plot. I swear, between this and Paul Robeson singing 'Ole Man River' in Showboat, I'm a complete basketcase.



Oh Gods, I need tissues now...so much for more cheery and lighthearted...but what a bloody brilliant film!!