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Thank you all who commented on my last neurotic outburst about my writing or lack thereof. OK, I'm not writing at the moment: so what? I am, however, reading like a fiend and have a ravenous appetite for knowledge at the moment, be it for literature, science, film criticism, music theory. My brain must be demanding nourishment for a reason and I will know when I am ready to write again.
Once again, excuse my daft outburst.
posted by Steve Kane at 10:12 AM
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Verity Lambert was the first producer of Doctor Who back in 1963 and oversaw the first two seasons. She was both the youngest and the first female drama producer at the BBC. Other shows she produced during her career include Rumpole Of The Bailey, The Naked Civil Servant, Widows and Jonathan Creek.
The current production team of Doctor Who paid tribute to Lambert during the Series 3 episode "Human Nature" when the Doctor, masquerading as school teacher John Smith, talks of his parents, Sidney* and Verity.
Her death on Thursday came the day before the 44th anniversary of the very first episode of Doctor Who and five days before her 72nd birthday.
* A reference to Sidney Newman, the original creator of the series.
Labels: in memoriam, TV
posted by Steve Kane at 5:56 PM
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Walking home from the shop along Walton Street in Oxford and who passes me? Only Jeremy bloody Paxman. S'true.
On an utterly unrelated note, I saw Amon Tobin do a DJ set at The Forum club in London. Fuck me if the bass in that place didn't almost cause a prolapse. A bloody good night only marred by slightly higher than usual Twat Quota in the audience, four Shoreditch yahoos wearing sunglasses in particular. Never mind, it was still a blinding show with Tobin mixing up his own stuff with music that has inspired him into one big jazzy drum 'n' bass pudding. He even played Second Bad Vilbel by Autechre, my favourite track by them and one I never thought I'd here in a DJ mix.
Other than that, nothing else exciting to report. The job still sucks and I'm currently reading The Magus by John Fowles which doesn't.
posted by Steve Kane at 3:30 PM
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Labels: in memoriam, writing
posted by Steve Kane at 6:52 PM
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I'm wondering if it is not about time I gave up these fanciful notions of being a writer. I haven't written anything substantial for two years and, frankly, the desire to write, the need to write, has gone. If the passion isn't there then why bother? No point in persevering if the drive isn't there - you'll only produce half-arsed drivel. Maybe I've just been kidding myself that I am a true creator; maybe I am nothing more than an over enthusiastic reader suffering from a romantic delusion of being an artist.
Who cares? Too many talentless hacks out there scribbling away at interminable drek as it is. Why add to the stockpile?
posted by Steve Kane at 6:05 PM
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Waxwork figures of George Clooney and Brad Pitt at Madame Tussauds had to be recalled for repair after just one day on show because... they were mobbed. Clooney's face was retouched to remove all the lipstick and Brad's arse had suffered from too much pinching.
A spokesman for Madam Tussauds said:
"They have been mobbing the whole set, kissing and touching them for a photo, but this is what it is all about so we are not going to stop them doing this, although we will keep an eye on things."The Tussauds' management may have had a very different response had customers been molesting a bicycle instead of waxwork figures of Hollywood hunks. A man in Ayr, Scotland, has been put on the sex offenders' register for attempting to fornicate with a bicycle in a hotel room. Two cleaners knocked on his door and, receiving no response, unlocked the door with a master key whereupon they discovered the man naked from the waist down holding the bicycle in front of him and grinding his hips back and forth. The cleaners, who were "extremely shocked", reported the incident to the manager who then called the police.
I remember watching a television interview with Anthony Burgess many years ago. The discussion had got around to his dislike of skinny models. He related an anecdote about how he once hooked up with a supermodel and, even though she was extremely beautiful to look at, he likened making love to her as akin to "sleeping with a bicycle". Maybe this Scottish fellow remembered the same interview and reasoned that enjoying sexual congress with a bicycle would therefore be the closest he'd ever get to sleeping with a supermodel. Or maybe the gentleman was taking Flann O'Brien's theory about men swapping atoms with their bicycles from The Third Policeman to its extreme.
But that is not the point. The point is that this man has been put on the sex offenders' register for having an elaborate wank in a hotel room. Yes, embarrassing for everyone involved but it's not as if he had done it in a crowded shopping centre or cycled onto the pitch during a Premier League football match and violated his vehicle in front of the crowd and millions of television viewers. I could understand the cleaners being upset and the manager asking the man to leave the hotel but calling the police and getting him put on the sex offenders' register? A rapist is a sex offender. A paedophile is a sex offender. Someone who buys video images of child abuse is a sex offender. How can being caught cracking one off in a hotel room be comparable? It's overkill. What next: teenagers caught in their bedroom having one off the wrist by their parents are to get shipped off to a young offenders' detention centre? What an utter waste of judicial resources and a shameful trivialisation of genuine sexual offences.
Labels: life
posted by Steve Kane at 11:29 PM
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"The Cusp Of Something" by Jai Clare - Launch Party
Sunday, November 4th, 2007
2:00pm - 4:00pm
Filthy McNasty's Whiskey Cafe
68 Amwell Street
London
United Kingdom
posted by Steve Kane at 5:05 PM
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