All I ever wanted to be.....

A week and a half ago, Lucy Mangan wrote volubly in the Guardian about a Christmas incident when she was a teenager where her father presented her and her sister each with a slice of hick chic all the way from Carolina when he was posted there for work. All in all, her description of the dressed-up lumber shirts had me in stitches (sic). However, funny as her column was, I could not touch base with Lucy – no one has ever presented me with a slice of backwoods’ bling. Next weekend, however, I squealed in empathy with Victoria Coren’s column in the Observer . Victoria gripes over how us women are supposed to appear at our most glamorous at the darkest, coldest, wettest or frostiest time of year, while the boys are permitted to stay snug as rug bugs in sensible suits and boots. Even as a child, I puzzled over the fashion spreads in December magazines; painted females in trip-me-up shoes and gold foil dresses that began somewhere just above the bosom and ended halfway down the thigh. In the time and place I spent my formative years, not even the average winter ensemble of wools and furry cottons prevented me from sporting the glorious accessory of a snuffly head cold on 25/12. No, I never was the fairy on top of the Christmas tree.

In memory of Jacintha Saldanha

When I heard of the telephone prank on the nurses at the King Edward VII hospital, I did not punch the air and laugh at the royals – no. Apparently, two well-paid broadcasters “down unda” had nothing better to do but attack hard-working, working-class people. In light of the latest news, I hope that they are proud of themselves and their fools’ project. Let me make one thing clear, I have no personal agenda in writing this. I have no ties with the medical profession, apart from having once had to spend a few days in hospital where I was very well cared for by the staff. They put up with my post-op groaning and moaning, grumbling and whingeing. Multiply that many times over, and I wonder why anyone, anywhere wants to nurse for a living. But still they do it. They put up with the hard labour and the low pay, the grumbling and groaning from people like me, the lifting and carrying, the phials of blood and other bodily fluids. In return, they are lampooned and trivialised, humbled and sent up in every possible way. A quick spot of Googling, and you can access millions of “naughty nurse” and “sexy nurse” outfits – yes, they are presented as sex maniacs, as well. How long will it take for us to see the truth, that the nurse is a highly-trained, hard-working professional? All I can do is extend my deepest sympathy to the family, friends and colleagues of the late Jacintha Saldanha.

Shocks, Chocs and Academics...

From the earliest age, my favourite television advertisements have always been that series where this good-looking guy risks life and limb (scaling walls, jumping out of helicopters, and so on) to bring a box of chocolates to his elegant girlfriend. When he finally does so, a voiceover says all because the lady loves Milk Tray… And that is the core of my valedictory speech when I finally stand on stage at the Swedish Academy. A study by Franz Mezzerli of Columbia University has established a link between high intelligence and commensurate chocolate consumption…OMG! There was I, pouring late o’nights over books and manuscripts, scribbling copy copiously when all I had to do was wolf the walnut whirls and make light of the lime barrels. Gone are all those agonies of guilt I suffered over my passion for praline and cravings for c-covered caramels…ah, me! If only Mezzerli had released his results sooner, I might have gotten the Famous Phone Call before now. But it’s never too late. Forget the Omega-3 and watch out for my forthcoming brand of Academic Chocolates; Nobel nougats, egghead orange creams and nutty professors….

Trouble in Utopia

Last night, between 11 pm and midnight, I watched the TV programme unfold. It was eerie to hear the words of the late Robert Hughes, remembering them as if he had spoken the day before and not three decades earlier. The shock that was new then still resonates today. Since, I have read much and written much more about the International Style and the Bauhaus, Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe, the Villa Savoie and the Unite d’Habitation. Maybe I have read the wrong books, but I have never since read a word about the architectural embarrassment that was La Defense. Little did I understand then of Hughes’s courage in airing the subject. The sight of those candy-coloured towers and the plight of those people staring out at the dismal concrete spaces in between, are still as moving now as they were then. If I remember, the dog whimpered and ran under the table. My late father covered his head with his hands and muttered an imprecation. Uncharacteristically, I silently thanked the Above (for the first and only time) for my having grown up in a “normal” suburban house. That sentiment didn’t last, but I have never forgotten the lesson learned; the difference between “stunning architecture” and basic, good housing. Since then, I have written much on the consequences of planners neglecting to turn space into place. I have lampooned the notion of building-as-lifestyle, the theme park, and the danger of erecting a habitation to express ideas rather than serve human needs. You can take man from the organic, but you can’t take the organic from the man. All this could not help the residents of La Defense, of course. I have every respect for Robert Hughes but as The Shock of the New drew to a close, then as now I felt regret that he didn’t talk to, didn’t talk onscreen to at least one of the humans caught in that modernist nightmare.

The Conservatory: All You Need to Know

Now that the government is relaxing the laws on building conservatories, I foresee a rush by homeowners to erect cages of aluminium and glass against a back or sidewall of their suburban bijoux. Conservatories do have a purpose; acting as a heat trap and preventing cold air from creeping into a house. They can be pleasant places to sit, and act as a focal point for daytime guests. Conservatories come in many sizes, shapes and styles. The most simple and utilitarian is the lean to, so-called because it leans against the house proper, like a toddler shadowing an adult. Incidentally, I grew up in a house that sported a lean to. On reaching maturity, I discovered that most conservatories are much greater in size and grander in function. The lantern is u-shaped, with its ‘proper’ roof capped and closed by a miniature roof…aaah…presumably the ‘lantern’ of its name. The Victorian has a jutting gable that apes the bay window of a house from that same period. The P-shape is a combo of said Victorian and lean to. The gable looks like a regular greenhouse, and most likely functions as one, too. The Georgian fans outwards from the house – fanlight, geddit? These are the main players on the conservatory stage. There are many more combos, mutations and permutations available. Several firms offer varying numbers of ‘facets’ in their Victorian and Georgian conservatories. Most manufacturers offer ultra modern, streamlined aluminium and glass affairs, but several offer more retro references. So, there you go….

Red-hot in Surrey....

Phew! I’m hot, I’m very hot. From morning to night, for the past five days, I have been slowly turning into a pile of H2O combined with perspired mineral. Well, not quite. My fingers are intact and still connected to my brain. Yes, there are a zillion ‘how to stay cool in steamy weather’, blogs out there. But moving into a Moorish-style palace complete with cooling tower is not an option for most of us. And I reckon that by the time you have purchased the fans and ice cube-filled plastic sacks, your anatomy has expended enough energy to power a mobile air conditioning unit. So, I’ve decided to sit tight and explore the virtues of those folk who routinely get steamed up for health reasons – that’s right, the Finns. The word ‘sauna’ is actually Finnish. Aeons ago, these clever people dug pits in the ground and used them as winter dwellings. They lit fires that heated stones, and sprinkled water on the stones to make the living space warm enough to shed their clothes. Slapping with birch twigs happened later on, when the sauna and the living space had parted company. But even in the earlier days, the Finns were smart enough to know that it was not good to keep one’s clothes on for the duration of their harsh winters. And they were certainly aware of the therapeutic effects of mild, artificially-induced fevers, skin-cleansing and raising the body’s immune system against viruses – it can’t be a coincidence that we get fewer colds in summer than in winter. They have another custom, that of jumping into an ice-cold lake afterwards. I will explore that one day. Meanwhile, enjoy the balmy, end-of-summer days.

Life on Mars...

...at last. Curiosity has landed without a hitch and has even tweeted its outcome…aah! Congratulations to all at NASA. At this juncture, I am going to refer to Curiosity as she. The craft is named after the human quality that we consider particularly female. Just think of Eve and Pandora, Psyche and Lot’s wife. There has been a lot of criticism levelled at the voyage, chiefly that it has cost a lot of money, and what is the purpose of it, anyway? But is there anything female about curiosity? Curiosity on Earth got us out of trees and into caves, from caves into skyscrapers. Curiosity on Mars will remind us constantly that there is another world out there. It will remind us that we are not here to stew in our own earthly juices for as long as our species survives. I look forward to all the discoveries that that cutie little buggy is going to beam back. You know, if this were a movie, Curiosity would meet a machine from another world, fall in love and produce an entire family of hybrid Curiosity-type machines…aah! Cue David Bowie..

Statkraft, Technology and Art

Statkraft is an energy company owned by the Norwegian state. It is the largest producer of renewable energy in Europe, and owns more than 150 power stations. The majority of these are hydroelectric stations, but Statkraft owns a number of wind farms. But Statkraft isn’t static; it is growing. It has a number of aims, among them to provide Norway with clean energy from renewable sources, to increase its market operations in Europe, and to uncover other forms of green energy. Statkraft has joined forces with that other Norwegian company, Statoil, and created Scira Offshore Energy. Scira is in the process of building a windfarm of 88 turbines, which will be finished ‘sometime’ in 2012. Then, it is expected to meet the electricity requirements of 220,000 UK households…whew! I give this publicity to Statkraft because they are sponsors of the Edvard Munch: The Modern Eye exhibition that has just opened at Tate Modern. If you get a chance to see it, please do…

Caught red-handed

A few days ago, I received an email from PayPal - so what? Well, the email popped into a mailbox address that is not registered with my PayPal account. It read Dear Customer, Our Technical Service department has recently updated our online services, You are required to verify your account security details in order to start using our PayPal services as normal. due to this upgrade we sincerely call your attention to follow below link and reconfirm your online account details. please ensure that all security details are entered correctly in order to avoid loose of account. Thank you for helping us protect you. PayPal I need not draw attention to the terrible grammar, diction and punctuation of the piece. A quick call to PayPal proper confirmed the fraudulent intent of the mail. An email from a genuine company will always address the customer by name. My subsequent Google search revealed that a multitude of these ‘phishing’ emails are loose on the net. I also discovered that the link included with the above email could have unleashed spyware onto my computer – if I had clicked it. I did not. So beware, and take care… https://www.paypal.com/uk/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=xpt/cps/securitycenter/general/RecognizePhishing-outside

The Great Battersea Saga

The great Battersea Power Station saga has taken another turn. In 2010 I reported that “Real Estate Opportunities, the firm that bought the site in 2006 has just had a £5.5 billion ‘retail and housing’ plan approved, with the proviso that the Northern Line is extended by two stops to facilitate the shoppers and visitors who will certainly want to go there.” I finished the post by saying “we can only wait and see.” See we did. Last December, Real Estate Opportunities fell victim to the implosion of the Irish property market in general, and the ruination of Irish property tycoons, Johnny Ronan and Richard Barrett, in particular. Just to recap the history of the building: leading architect, Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, designed BPS in 1933. John Mowlem & Co built the main building, and the total cost of construction was £2,141,550 – billions in today’s money. It was 1953 before BPS was fully in operation as a coal-fired powered station. By1975 the day of coal as a major provider of electricity was over. In the meantime, the building had become an international icon. BPS has both the blessing and the curse to be the largest brick building in Europe. Its expansiveness makes it unsuitable for the type of development of Bankside, its sister building down the river (Tate Modern). Besides, the other end of town has the benefit of City finance, a privilege the Battersea site lacks. Over the years, proposals have come and been banished, one by one for a variety of reasons; among them a dearth of funds, opposition by heritage groups and of local residents. Now, the latest news is that Malaysian property developers SP Setia and Sime Darby Property have outbid Chelsea Football Club by putting forward a £400 million plan for the development of the site. In addition to this, the duo is putting forward £250 million for an extension of the Northern Line to the site. Already, a chorus of sceptical voices, the lowest of which is not Chelsea, is dooming the project before it has even begun. As I said at the outset, we can only wait and see.

Disgusted, etc

Excuse the title, but I am still reeling from the mess that was last night’s Apprentice final. I, and many other people, had been looking forward to it for weeks. My mouth was watering over the thought of all those lovely-jubbly business pitches growing in the minds of Britain’s Brightest and Best. You know what I mean; an amazing niche restaurant, or a boutique of extraordinary clothing, or a widget to revolutionise all our lives and save the sinking economy. Of course, I ought to have known that there is no money in making and selling things any more. But even if the plans of the candidates were going to focus on organizing, and communicating, and presenting, they could have done loads better than finding a new way to, er, buy groceries. There was the candidate who wanted to open a series of those wonderful things, call centres. She didn’t even bother to find out if the web name on her business plan was actually available and buy it – one of the easiest things in the world to do. Then there was the geezer who wanted Lord Sugar’s money to help amass an enormous gambling fund – what a project for the country’s business tsar! The ‘winning’ plan will at least create a few jobs by placing other people in jobs. But what a letdown the entire series has been. I hearken back to the blog I wrote a few weeks ago, expressing a wish that Lord Sugar would summarily fire the whole lot of them and hold over the quarter mill for the next series. One thing; the entire episode has answered the question I posted on my last blog: why do Americans get to go to the moon while the British get the steam punk trophy?

Skylon versus the Dragon: isn't it time we cast aside our steam punk role?

Not that long ago, I saw a report in the press about Skylon, the name of the unmanned space plane designed by the British firm, Reaction Engines Ltd. The story of Skylon’s journey from engineer Alan Bond’s head to computer disk is too complex to lay out in detail here. However, it began in the 1980s and has cost £12 million to date. If all goes well and another £220 million is found, Skylon should be taking to the skies in another…7-8 years? Oh dear, oh dear… To make matters more poignant, the Dragon, an unmanned space capsule built by the Californian company, SpaceX, has just docked at the International Space Station. Tut-tut again. Why do the Americans always win the space race, while the British get the steam punk trophy? It’s not that we lack imagination. The greatest robot known to man was built in the mind of Mary Shelley, while HG Wells zipped us forwards and backwards in time. Great Britain is hardly a minor player on the world stage. That great political power, Russia, has long had a space program to rival the Americans, and even the come-lately Chinese are getting their program – and rockets – off the ground. Get with it, Britain. Think of the employment potential, if nothing else…more information..

Why The Apprentice didn't fire me...

I watched last night’s Apprentice, my jaw tickling the carpet in disbelief. Lord Sugar did his usual thing of separating the goats from the sheep, and later dismissed one of those sad animals with his famous finger-wave. Well, if I had sat in Lord Sugar’s seat, I would have fired all members of both teams, wiped the slate clean, and held over the lip-smacking, £250 K prize for the next round – yes, there is going to be another series. Alright, it’s wisdom in hindsight, and OK, those poor teasels are under the scrutiny of the camera. But they had so much to begin with, not the least of their resources being a guy who owns his own wine distribution firm. His team won, or rather, didn’t lose because the alternative offering was so dire. The only spark of talent was from a young lady who designed the good-ish product logo for the losing team. Again, wisdom in hindsight, but nobody on either team, when asked to epitomise ‘English-ness’ mentioned William Shakespeare. I had the entire campaign in my head before I went to bed. Picture this. A guy in a suit of armour cries: “For Harry, England, and St. George.” He holds up a bottle of St George (the wine), branded with a red cross on a white background. There is a flurry of Greensleeves, and a galliard of Renaissance men and women on a lawn in front of a stately home. They cease dancing, and a serving wench steps forward with a tray of filled glasses. One man – Prospero? – raises a glass and says “The stuff dreams are made on…” Far-fetched? Years ago, there was a sherry called A Winter’s Tale – is it still around? Costly? The losing team hired a stately home to film a lassie in a modern wedding dress…curious, that. There are Renaissance costumes for hire, the length and breadth of the land. So, there you have it. McCann Erickson, I await your call.

Vidal Sassoon, RIP

Several posts ago, I waxed lyrical on the work of Vidal Sassoon, the man who contributed more than anybody in freeing women from their stifling, lacquered bouffants. Well, Mr Sassoon is now dead, and I bow my fluffy, unkempt head to this maestro of the hair salon. Sadly, I never had the bone structure requisite for a five-point geometric bob. A gal has to be built along modernist lines to walk the walk of Shrimpton, Hornby, Farrow, et al. However, I cherish the extraordinary VS hairdryer that I bought in 2002 for £12.99 and that was/is still going strong; 1800 watts, folding handle, 2 heat/speed settings, worldwide dual voltage, and cool shot button. When it does eventually break down, I will keep it as a museum piece. In the meantime, I go into mourning for this man who contributed as much as any artist or architect to visual culture in the twentieth century

QVR - The Truth is Out There...

When I first saw them, I was intrigued. They look so like pieces of abstract art by, say, Kasimir Malevich, or Gerhard Richter, or even the monochrome woodcuts of Ernst Kirchner. Slowly, slowly the meaning of ‘QVR Code’, and of how these intriguing little nuggets fit into the world of the Smartphone, filtered into the murk of my consciousness. But, hey, they are so, so underused. Why not leave your own, personal QVR pattern on tiles, cushion covers, placemats, mugs, handkerchiefs, key rings, book covers, items of clothing – now, there’s a thought. I am walking along the street and Brian Cox, (astronomer, etc.) happens along. I swish my QVR-patterened scarf in front of that pair of heavenly eyes, BC whips out his Smartphone and, great galaxies, I got a date! Well, in a parallel universe, maybe. The security implications are obvious and utterly terrifying. But in a world where our IDs are up for grabs anyway, what does it matter? If there is any radical creative out there, making art with QVR codes, can he/she please email creativespinboard@artyonline.co.uk Thanks.

Raspberry Pi and Silicon Chips...

Many years ago, more than I care to recall – hint, microcomputers had just come into general use – I did my first computer course. We learned the tenets of programming under the auspices of Basic, COBOL and RPG II – then a hot language. There was another module called Data Processing, which involved an overview of all systems, old and new, that were used in processing data. At the end of it all, I emerged with an RSA certificates in Data Processing and was proud of my achievement. I left the course feeling that I knew about computers, rather than just how to use a clutch of software applications, as computer courses today seem to leave grads feeling. I also felt that I could move into any employ involving a computer, master it, and climb to the top. That last ambition was a trifle vain, but I believe that it is a far better perspective to occupy than that of even experienced users today who see computers and computing as shrouded in mystery.
Now, a company called Premier Farnell has released a delightful little gadget called a Raspberry Pi, a credit-sized ‘computer’ that can plug into a keyboard. It is programmable, can run applications and show videos. It doesn’t come in a fancy box emblazoned with a gilded raspberry, however. The chipboards are au naturel, designed to demonstrate to students what a computer actually is and how it works. On TV recently, I saw how an entire new generation of would-be programmers is emerging from among the ranks of youth delighted with the Raspberry Pi. The heart warms to those young people who are obsessed with a project above and beyond carrying about the latest, coolest branded gadget…

http://downloads.element14.com/raspberryPi1.html?CMP=KNC-GUK-FUK-GEN-SUP-OSP

Sound Bites: The Masterchef Challenge

The heat is on, the steam is rising, and the pressure mounting as this year’s cocktail of contestants go head to head in the ultimate culinary challenge. Masterchef is appetizing as ever; a suspenseful sandwich of disastrous dips, calamitous quiches, triumphant trifles and moments stickier than Eamonn’s banana, custard and sponge dessert. Wherein lies the fascination in watching a bunch of levelheaded adults growing tearful over the texture of a slab of meat, and murderous over a mouthful of overly-salted sauce?
It’s a question of getting the mixture right. Sweet praise and sour criticism must be balanced so as not to leave an unpleasant after-taste. The show must be light as a sponge cake, fluffy as a flan, and leavened with enough fun so that the result will not be flat, dull and damp the way through; a pan of deep-frying mushrooms bursts into flames; a tub of mango sorbet tumbles and splashes in a yellow tide across the shiny floor.
Overall, Masterchef is an indication of our fascination with adults who, in these post-industrial times, have the guts to quit careers in management and marketing, and carve out creative careers instead of swallowing the pre-packaged offerings on sale in every supermarket. Yup, without mincing words, I’ll say Masterchef is definitely to my taste.

Because They're Worth It...

In December 2009, I posted a piece on the bizarre happenstance of an advertisement featuring model Twiggy having to be “taken down” for containing “inauthentic material” because the skin underneath her eyes had been airbrushed, or something like that. I expressed surprise, having always believed that all such advertisements were airbrushed fantasies, and had thought that all skin-care punters knew that. Now, it has happened all over again, this time involving an advertisement for L’Oreal ® face cream and involving actress Rachel Weisz. Once again, I am gobsmacked.
Surely, surely, there is nobody alive who believes that a film of manufactured face moisturiser will lend the glow of a top model or actress to the average miss? What is so wrong with a manufacturer ‘making creams in the factory, selling dreams in the stores’? Now, the row over ‘body-image’ advertisements looks set to go political with Liberal Democrat MP Jo Swinson about to begin a campaign for ‘body confidence’.
Well, lawksamussy and shiver my timbers!
For an MP or anybody else wanting to instil a dash of body confidence into youth, surely there is no better place to begin than nudging the darlings in the direction of cosmeticians and body image merchants – what is grubby skin, unkempt hair and sloppy clothing going to do for their confidence? Look at everything else we do - they have educational toys stuffed down their throats in tandem with the vitamins. We probe them for PhD qualities while they are still in nappies. We spend years bombarding them with aspirations. We all but shed blood in an effort to get them into the ‘right’ schools. When all is said and done, surely it is worth expending a little cosmetic gilding on these extraordinary academic lilies?
Interestingly, L’Oreal is the same firm that has for its strap-line the much lampooned and misunderstood “because I’m worth it.” Yes, they are worth it – a rich gift deserves a handsome wrapping, I always say.

Supergrafix ® and the camera obscura..

The camera obscura was a device developed in the 1500s to help artists draw more quickly and realistically – no coincidence that this was when artists were moving out of the phase when most of their representations were of a world that they nor we could see, namely, heaven, and were beginning to make more and more images of the visible world. The “camera” was actually a darkened space, inside of which a series of adjustable mirrors and lenses projected the scene in front onto a screen of paper or canvas, thus enabling the artist to draw what he saw. The device grew in popularity and shrunk in size. By the 1600s, artists like Vermeer and Canaletto were using portable cameras to help create their outdoor scenes.
Recently, I saw my young niece using a device named a Supergrafix ® . It works like this. You sit in front of a drawing easel over which is placed a contraption (of mirrors and lenses?). In front of this is another contraption where the aspiring artist may place a picture that he or she wants to copy. In the absence of a picture, the lens projects an image of the real world onto the drawing space - and this is the tricky bit.
Try as we might, we couldn’t place my large, lumbering frame into a suitable position in front of the lens for my diminutive niece to make a half-way decent portrait, but don’t let that put anyone off Supergrafix. Image capture is learned in time, I am certain. And big folk and little folk will have great fun honing their drawing skills, even copying pictures…

Why Blokus doth mock us...

If you have ever needed a distraction that caused the kettle to boil dry, and the cat to go unfed, the washing-up to pile in the sink, and dust to make swirly patterns on your furniture, why, friend, look no further than Blokus ®. No doubt the brainchild of a frustrated architect, somewhere, who failed to win a commission for a shopping mall, and is now laughing all the way to Prada, Blokus is the most enticing, brain-teasing, finger-twivelling outfit that anoraks (like me) ever did encounter.
On investigation (try Blokus.com) I discovered different levels and versions of the game; original Blokus, Blokus 3D and Blokus Trigon. Mine was Blokus Duo, where two players attempt to ‘block’ each other on a 14 x 14 square grid with variously shaped pieces orchestrated in miniature squares (domino, triomino, tetramino, pentamino). You must lay your pieces so that the corners of your colour – orange or purple – touch, but not the sides. The player who manages to lay down the most pieces, within the rules of the game, is the winner.
Blokus Duo is fun to play with an opponent, but even more fun to play alone, spending hour after hour pitting Orange against Purple – mentally, I was always on the side of Purple. Blokus has spawned conventions, championships, and many, many champions. You can even play it online – but perish that thought. I’ve said farewell to Blokus Duo. With an obsession like that, I would never put pen to paper again, ever…