Unclean, unclean, ding ding, unclean

I feel like a leper. What is wrong with the world? The other night I asked the landlady of my local hostelry to phone a cab for me (a luxury I can rarely afford). On its arrival I was asked by the driver if I was a Muslim - He'd picked me up from a boozer for Christ's sake! He then proceeded to try and convert me to his way of thinking.

Last night I went out to meet an old friend. As the evening wore on I told him that I had a warm dog awaiting me on my return. He seemed shocked. "You let him sleep in your bed?" was his response.

What is wrong with the world when man can't enjoy a pint and share his bed (not in the biblical sense) with his hound?

Now off to share that bacon butty with my best friend.

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Quote of the Day

I have for the past few weeks been obliged to sign on at the Job Centre every week rather than every fortnight. Today I plucked up the courage to ask why.

I was told:

"Well, if we had more time we would help you to look for a job"

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Quote of the Day

My good friend Cynical Dragon has inspired me to post the occasional Quote of the day.

Now, I do not normally like Cheese Munching Surrender Monkeys, but for once this one seems to be talking sense - Sarkozy that is not the Cynical Dragon who always speaks sense ;)

Sarkozy speaks out against burka

"We cannot accept to have in our country women who are prisoners behind netting, cut off from all social life, deprived of identity," Mr Sarkozy told a special session of parliament in Versailles.

"That is not the idea that the French republic has of women's dignity."

"The burka is not a sign of religion, it is a sign of subservience. It will not be welcome on the territory of the French republic"

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Digital Britain

One of the proposals announced this afternoon in the 'Digital Britain' paper would appear to be a £6 a year tax on landlines. That's right - 50 new pennies a month for those in possession of a Plain Old Telephone System (POTS). Way to go!

There used to be a time when most people in this country accessed the GPO telephone system via a series of kiosks placed at the end of their streets (AKA Phone Boxes).

Later, if you had the money the GPO/BT would install a connection in you house, usually placing the hardwired connection in your hallway. Sometimes you even had to share the line with you neighbours (anyone remember party lines?). If you had your own line or shared line you had it made. Your family and friends could call you at their leisure and providing it wasn't to cold/hot in your hallway and that your neighbour did not interrupt, you could chat away through the night.

These days every 5 year old and their dog seems to have a mobile phone. Why tax the the old and the vulnerable who rely on their landlines for the occasional call and the comfort of knowing they can phone for help in an emergency?

Has anybody bothered to think this one through?

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Procrastination and the Strange Case of the White Powder

After weeks of finding 'important' things to do I have finally got around to giving my office a spring clean.

After about an hour of sifting which would have made the Time Team proud I began to see the surface of my desk. This desk has been with me for years and is large enough for three old fashioned 21" CRT monitors and has a large solid piece of plate glass placed on a 1.5" solid wooden surface to facilitate easy cleaning - when I can actually see the surface.

Having eventually uncovered the glass surface I noticed curious white powder sprinkled liberally around my working area. Ten years ago it would have been obvious to me what this was. I did use to work in the City (of London). These days things are very different.

Like a rookie police officer I licked the end of a finger, dabbed a small quantity of the power and touched the tip of my tongue. The powder had a sweet taste with 'tangy' unidentifiable overtones. This was the challenge I had been looking for.

Motivated now I continued my excavation and came across a half eaten packet of Rowntree's Jelly Tots - Mystery solved.

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In loco parentis

Scary Old Doghouse

Yesterday I received this email:

"Hiya My Names Sxxxxxxx I'm 18 & a student studying photography in Cardiff & I've decided to try & look around to see if any photography based company's are interested in taking on myself for some kind of work experience, obviously not paid I'm just looking for some kind of insight into what people like yourselves do & how you got there.
If you could kindly get back to me either way.
Thank you,
Sxxxxxxx."

I thought about it for a while and responded:

"If you really want to see what it is like at the sharp end, you are welcome to follow me on a shoot. I take it you are busy today - but, if you are interested I'm covering the Great Welsh Beer and Cider Festival at the CIA this afternoon/evening then shooting a band called Sicknote later this evening.

You are welcome to join me if you like."

She then replied that she would be available and would be able to join me. It was then I began to worry. Re-reading her email I realised she was only 18. I wasn't sure about 18 year old girls at beer festivals and punk gigs. I ascertained that her mother would be driving her into the city centre, suggested that we meet in the Vulcan and that her mother would come and meet me and have a chat with Liz (the Landlady of the Vulcan) who would give me some sort of character reference.

Now, you might think I'm being a little paranoid here but from experience I can tell you that there are a lot of seedy people out there who use the excuse of photography to 'impress' the young - I'm not one of them, as some of you will know I'm just a cynical old fashioned 'tog.

I then popped into the Cardiff International Arena (CIA) to get her a guest pass and we met at the designated time. Her mother, though wary seemed to approve of the evening's plan of action and it was arranged that she would be collected at 10:30pm.

She certainly knew her way round her camera and was not at all fazed by the bizarre lighting conditions inside the CIA. The Jug Band were on form as always providing many opportunities for photographs.

We then moved on to the Sicknote gig. Sicknote have quite a reputation and have been banned from playing in most of the venues in South Wales. The gig in fact was for the silver wedding anniversary of two of Sicknote's biggest fans.

I introduced Sxxxxxxx to Doghouse and Flapsandwich (of Sicknote) and was mildly surprised by their paternal attitude to Sxxxxxxx. We then telephoned her father and arranged for her to be collected at 11:00 from outside the venue.

The evening went well until 10:50 when I lost sight of Sxxxxxxx. This was when the real panic set in. Where was she? What would I say to her parents? Why did I ever agree to this?

After a few minutes of frantic searching I spotted her on stage with the band. Her response "Well you told me to get closer to fill the frame".

Relief. We departed at the designated time and her father even gave me a lift home. The photographs are good and the whole evening got me thinking.

At 18 Sxxxxxxx is an adult. What was I doing at 18? Thinking back I was playing in a band, drinking beer and running round with a camera. Plus ca change.

The thing that worries me most is that there are currently more students studying photography in Britain than there are working photographers in all of Europe. Somehow I feel that Sxxxxxxx will make it.

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Three wise Otley Monkeys

Think of real ale and beer festivals, what comes to mind? Beards, socks and sandals, beer guts, lack of personal hygiene?

Well, the boys from the Otley brewery have certainly done much to dispel these myths. Their infectious enthusiasm has made the Great Welsh Beer and Cider Festival memorable for me this year.

Their love of their products (congratulations on winning Second place for the OG and third place for their Porter in the Champion Beer of Wales Competition) is clear to all.

Yesterday it was hats, today face painting and tomorrow they are turning up in their pyjamas.

It hurts me to say this at a mere 44 years old, but it is great to see young people so passionate about real ales. Cheers boys!

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