2013-05-20T03:26:28-04:00 James Wallace http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=james-wallace Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for James Wallace Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2621915 2013-02-05T08:46:34-05:00 2013-04-07T05:12:01-04:00

James Wallace http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-wallace/ The news last week about a proposed high speed rail link in the UK resulted in numerous bulletins containing reports from middle England that were all seemingly variants on a theme:

A reporter in a outdoorsy jacket grunts noises to camera in a village hall somewhere whilst in the background local inhabitants are seen frantically consulting maps and crosschecking co-ordinates with crossed fingers and baited breath in the hope that they don't wake up one morning in twenty years time to find a bloody massive train hurtling through their conservatory. Then a spokesperson would get their mush on camera where they would say something like:

"Why would you want to get to that London/Leeds/Liverpool/Manchester/Birmingham quicker anyway, there's nowt the'er"

It was quite clear that in these areas the HS2 proposals were about as popular as a Halloween party at Mathew Hopkins' gaff.

Actually, a lot of the people interviewed were reasonable and thoughtful and well within their rights to be a little bit miffed. Most of us would be willing to sit slightly longer on a train to get to our destination especially if the only offered alternative meant having to look at a fleet of diggers and a series of workmen's grizzled arses for the next decade whenever you leave the house. Just to give things a bit of frisson though, the news channels love nothing more than a quick 'vox pop' of someone who fits the bill of slightly deranged or ignorant backwater bumpkin to keep things lively and not a bit patronising.

There were numerous reports that contained people with such strong views on the matter, if you were to gather them up they wouldn't be too dissimilar from the inhabitants of Royston Vasey when they find out that "New Road" is coming. This is merely the news creating a stereotypical narrative in which to frame the 'story'.

Some of them were quite entertaining though, so much so that those government ministers who were looking to dissuade immigrants from entering the country should re-think any expensive ad campaign in the pipeline and just shepherd these militantly opinioned few to Britain's ports. Get them to stand on the white cliffs of Dover with their tupperware of beef paste sandwiches a flask and a loud-haler. Endlessly bellowing over the channel:

"What are yer comin' ere for mitherin us folk, leave us be will yer"

or

"Its pants ere! Yeh we had the Olympics, didn't bother me though, they were basically a poncey sports day, besides, it's not natural, all that lycra... "

This scheme would be cost effective and would be cathartic for those involved. Think of all that unused cash that could be put to good use... billions could be spent on really pressing issues such as... transforming the barge network to reinvigorate the economy, why not re-align the tow paths too!? Quicker barging and path towing between north and south will turn this country around! 11 billion? Bargain!

The makers of news know they can get more running time out of a story by contrasting the people who will be most affected and who are staunchly against the planned development with those who are contracted to it and whose livelihood is invested in seeing it through. Or the nervous MPs who are desperate to be seen to be breathing new life into an economy that at the moment has the respiratory rate of King Richard III. The end result of this approach being we often only see the two extreme ends of the story.

The Ministers and contractors for HS2 have to belch out pre-rehearsed statements so that they are all singing from the same harried hymn sheet. Most of the time it is quite plain to see that they never really believe the words that are coming out of the front of their face (just ask Chris Huhne) they may as well be reading the shipping forecast.

"33 Billion is a perfectly reasonable sum of money to kick-start the economy and provide jobs for thousands of people whilst also re-uniting the North Utsire and South Utsire of the... Malin, Rockall, moderate or good."

These MPs generally cut a pretty tragic figure; they must sometimes think they cannot do anything right by the general public, what is the point? They are going to get it in the neck from some quarter at some point . The HS2 rail proposal is just the latest in a long line of unpopular policies*.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who would rather spill the blood of a thousand high vis clad workmen rather than have diesel fumes anywhere near their begonias much as there are probably a few who are so pro the plans they are polishing their binoculars and ironing their spotters notepads with joyful abandon. I am willing to bet, however, that the general consensus would be one of indifference either way when it comes to high speed rail.

Look at the 'wonders' of Air travel. We can fly from this country to almost anywhere on the planet yet for many the novelty of stepping inside the belly of what is essentially a massive metal bird and going literally anywhere has worn off. The things they remember are the time bags went missing, there were queues or a dormant volcano got a bit arsey and decided to guff a bit of ash into the ether. Many will probably just shuffle along unthinking until HS2 arrives, IF it ever does, and IF it is no good just snarkily take the piss out of it every so often. Besides, we will probably all be on hover boards, Marty Mcfly style, by then anyway.

*Maybe they will start being deliberately provocative soon, proposing a tax on teapots or trying to outdo Iran and proposing to pack all of London Zoo into a spaceship and blast it into space on a fact finding mission. The Minister for Transport holding a press conference on the steps outside PETA headquarters flanked by a thrill seeking Gorilla doing a thumbs up, and, just for balance, a meerkat that is quite clearly bricking it. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2532901 2013-01-24T19:00:00-05:00 2013-03-26T05:12:01-04:00

James Wallace http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-wallace/ Bucks Fizz, the relationship betwixt music and politics seldom runs smooth. This has been made ever plainer to see in the past few weeks. First, owl haired guitar guru Johnny Marr reiterated his earlier comment that he 'forbids' David Cameron from liking the Smiths. Radiohead front man Thom Yorke then added to Cameron's musical maladies declaring that he would "sue the living shit" out of him if he used one of Radiohead's songs to promote the conservative cause during the next general election campaign

"Sue the living shit"? A bit strong Thom. Coincidentally that phrase is also the title of a chapter in Sooty's soon to be released and candidly written memoirs* . Maybe Thom Yorke is a big puppetry fan; it would certainly explain his dancing. That or he has ingested a cattle prod. Or some bees.

For some reason music and politics, or more specifically politicians and music, just do not seem to fit, but not through want of trying. It is now the norm to see politicians of all ilk's' bounding on and off hustings with music blaring, much like when a wrestler or boxer enters the ring before a fight. I can sort of see the logic. Amongst the reasoning must be that it gives them the opportunity to use music to reach out to the electorate, the voters, in order that they can be identified themselves as just a regular Joe who mows the lawn on a Sunday and gets a bloody groove on to Daft Punk like everybody else does.

The trouble is, most of the time, musicians, such as Yorke and Marr and countless others would rather pass a kidney stone than have their work associated with a political person or a party, especially if it is one that has conflicting views to their own.

In the build up to the last few elections in America there were numerous instances of musicians kicking up a stink about their songs being played in a political context without permission. Eventual White House 'also ran' Mitt Romney got into hot water for playing Waving Flag by Somali-born rapper K'naan at a political rally. Mr Naan said of the issue "I got a flood of messages from people who assumed that I was now a supporter of Mitt Romney's campaign...I'm for immigrants. I'm for poor people, and they don't seem to be what he's endorsing. My song being his victory song didn't seem quite right."

Similarly, Lego haired and amphibiously named former Republican nominee Newt Gingrich had legal action taken against him by the band Survivor for use of Eye of the Tiger at his speeches. Soon after the Republican's rejected Gingrich's candidacy and he skulked back to whence he came, less 'eye of the tiger' and more 'eye of newt and toe of frog'. Time and again the mixing of music and politics results in decidedly troubled waters. Rather than striking a chord with the public or potential voters, politicians such as Gingrich and Romney, get struck with a messy (quite literally if Thom Yorke had his way) lawsuit.

A famous example of a politician making a cod eyed musical choice is when Ronald Reagan co-opted Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA for his re-election campaign in 1984. Despite the song being interpreted lyrically as largely anti-American in sentiment, being about the breakdown and divide in society and lamenting the state of the nation after the Vietnam War. Reagan and his advisers misinterpreted it as a bullish ode to patriotism and because of its repetitive and catchy refrain blared it ad nauseam on the campaign trail. Springsteen has since had a troubled relationship with his own song and is dismissive of those who see it as a nationalistic anthem, when he does play it live it is often re-jigged and almost indecipherable from the original version.

In Britain, any attempt by Cameron, Clegg, Blair or Brown to try and integrate themselves with music has largely ended in ridicule. Whether it be Gordon Brown declaring that the Arctic Monkeys "really wake you up in the mornings" or Tony Blair turning up to Number Ten with a guitar under his arm and inviting Noel Gallagher round for tea. More recently many have enjoyed George Osbourne visibly squirming to the music here on the Andrew Marr Show. In fairness to him he could also be wondering whether the lead singer of Keane is actually the result of an unholy union between David Cameron and a beef tomato.

Barack Obama is the one politician who bucks the trend by actually having musicians scramble over themselves to perform for him or with him. Springsteen, REM and Jay Z are just a few of many that have performed at Obama rallies. The National dedicated their song Mr November to him and sold t-shirts adorned with his face. At his inauguration James Taylor finger picked his guitar, Kelly Clarkson warbled and Beyonce boshed out the Star Spangled Banner in front of the great man and a collective audience of millions. Obama has even flirted with singing himself with some success.

So, Obama is seemingly the solitary rose amongst the thorns when it comes to politicians mixing with music. Not even Hitler could dabble in music without scorn, his mix tapes mainly consisted of audio recordings of a Messerschmitt's engine, the sound of the SS marching and endless Wagner, which is only ever going to bring the vibe down at a house party or on a road trip. Most politicians would do well to just stay away completely. That means you too Lembit Opik. You may not be a politician any more, but this is terrifying.

*Completely true. Said chapter: 'Soo, the living shit!' is a harrowing recollection of the day in 1992 when Sooty suffered his first on set drug fuelled breakdown. Highlights of his tirade include calling Sweep an "incessantly squeaking cloth eared cockhead" and culminate in him thrusting his furry hand up Mathew Corbett's posterior tract and yelling "See! How do you like it?! How do you like it?!" through uncontrollable sobs. Chilling.
Sooty: The Hand that Feeds RRP £14.99
Available in no good bookstores as of next month.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.2205994 2012-11-28T15:02:40-05:00 2013-01-28T05:12:01-05:00

James Wallace http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-wallace/
Indeed it seems that all the news at the minute is particularly depressing with new horrors being unveiled and unearthed each day; it is basically like watching an episode of 'Time Team' at a sewage works. What better way to get away from the relentless reality of the real world than spend a few hours in the Pub, because they need our help. I love pubs and have frequented a fair few in my short life on both sides of the bar. To whet your appetite here is a guide to all things pub: the good, the bad and the (sn)ugly.

Beer
Pubs, much like people, boats and pasta, come in all shapes and sizes and the quality of beer (I am using this as an umbrella term for ale, lager and stout, back off CAMRA) will probably differ remarkably from one to the next. This makes going to the pub edgy as there is always a chance you will end up drinking something that has been sitting in a barrel since last pancake Tuesday and thus wake up in the morning feeling like John Hurt in Alien, I.e. with Bad Guts.

Tête à Tête: North Vs South
When it comes to Beer, many would have you believe that England is a stereotypically divided nation. With 'Southerners' (or soft shandy drinking ponces) being accused of preferring their Beer with no 'head' in order to get as much liquid in the receptacle as possible and 'Northerners' (obstinate grumpy gristle headed grumblers) prefer it with a head or else they look upon it as flat and thus perhaps off. (See above, John Hurt etc etc) Neither side can get their head (!) around the other one's tastes. Like I say, this is all a bit of a cliché and is largely a myth. BUT, it is definitely true that people from the murky midlands only drink out of half pints or yard glasses. For instance, I once saw a man in Lichfield glug a metric yard of Sambuca and wash it down with a half of peach schnapps. That is definitely true. Definitely.

Potato/Po-tato (snacks)
Bar snacks are things of beauty. Like a mass produced hanging gardens of Babylon and the Elgin marbles popped in a packet and covered in salt. Bog standard (Brand name alert) Walkers crisps, pork scratchings and KP nuts have been joined by classier items such as Pipers, Tyrells, bacon and Scampi Fries, snacks for all tastes. I love them all and have been known to over indulge, whether being the guy sat in the corner covered in cheesy Wotsit detritus (surely the most unsociable of the crisp family as they come with their own unique dandruff condition) or gobbling so many snacks on a night that as well as a hangover the next day you get the shakes from too much maize or MSG. Never mind a breathalyzer, I would turn Iodine solution deepest darkest blue if I breathed on it the next morning... (GCSE science experiment based humour there). So hit the pub now to consume your bodyweight in crisps without being frowned upon**.

Pub quizzes
Q: Who doesn't love a Pub Quiz?
A: Actually, about half the country. At least. But not I.

The country is divided by people who actively seek out pub quizzes like truffle hungry hogs and those who cower at the thought and baulk at the merest suggestion of going anywhere near the unholy trinity of alcohol, humans and trivia. If you are one of these people, don't turn up at pub quizzes and bring everyone else down with your desire to talk about 'stuff' while the rest of the team are listening intently to a half cut quizmaster and trying to work out whether that intro bit in the music round was Gabrielle? or Bob Dylan?

I am a fan of the quiz and all that comes with it: Half time sandwiches consisting of indeterminate meat and plastic cheese, the one team that everyone else hates (and who secretly detest each other) who win most weeks, the scramble for tables as people arrive hours in advance to sit at 'their' table and the pissed up woman who ambles between teams trying to 'flirt' answers out of people like a gin addled mutant cross between Amy Winehouse and John Humphreys. Actually, all those things were common to a Pub quiz I used to frequent but I am willing to bet at least a few apply to nearly every pub quiz in the land.

The Quest for a good Pub
Much like Indiana Jones when faced with a whole host of religious earthenware, it is important to pick your pub 'wisely'. There is a fine line between fancy restaurant-y pubs (who often have no time, or space for the humble quaffer) and the somewhat intimidating pubs that are seethingly hostile to 'outsiders'. The type of pub that when you step inside all the clientele turn around to look you up and down like drunken and angry employees of border control and all have a favourite glass, barmaid, racist joke and chair/barstool etc.

"The last person who sat in Ron's chair now drinks... and eats through a straw and not in a fun way".
These establishments tend to be possessed by a landlord/lady that has a face resembling an embolism or an angry bag of gravel. Avoid these places unless you are actively seeking out an anecdote that could be used at a later date in a nicer pub.

NB: I once worked behind a bar where a bloke 'paid' for four pints with a bin liner full of dead pigeons. As you do. I poured him his pints as was his wont.

BarOlympics
As a rule, refrain from playing any sort of bar sport in a surrounding you deem to be a bit dicey, (see above) there is always a chance things could go a bit 'Danny Dyer' and before you know it you have a pool cue rammed through your neck like that chap on that absolutely classic episode of '999'. He ended up looking like a life size player from a table football table. Classic. If you are tempted to play then always adhere to the local/traditional rules. E.g. the '50p rule' whereby if a pool table has a stack of 50ps on it then that is a passively hostile way of telling any other people who might want to play in the next 4hours to think again.

Barperson/Customer relations
The relationship between those that pour the pints and those that drink them is often a complicated one with a lot of time being spent in each others company in many cases. The barman can end up treading a ground somewhere between confidant and emotional punch bag. However, most indiscretions on either side are easily redeemable. For instance; if you bring your glasses back to the bar, especially from beer gardens especially if it is busy then you are a good person. BUT, If you are the type of person who rams their glass full of crisp packets, half chewed food, soiled napkins, cigarette butts and mauled beer mats then you are a despicable person, expecting someone at some point to thrust their hand into what is essentially a pint size version Dante's inferno*** .

*Along with the actual fat if you order some pork scratchings.
**You may be frowned upon.
*** Similar to 'Dante's Peak', a bit Longer, with less Brosnan.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.2164794 2012-11-21T19:00:00-05:00 2013-01-21T05:12:01-05:00

James Wallace http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-wallace/
'Movember' is a month long campaign whereby chaps/men folk/blokes/lads (delete as applicable) sport facial hair on their upper lip in order to raise awareness and funds for men's health issues such as prostate and testicular cancer. Anyone with the capability of facial hair growth (more on this later) can join in and the official 'Movember' website boasts global fundraising of 184 million pounds with around 1.9 million global registrants. This is mightily impressive...which is considerably more than can be said for my own facial hair growing skills.

I cannot grow a beard. At the wizened age of 24. It is pathetic. I can just about get patches of juvenile fluff and a top lip that if left unattended for three days, looks like some iron filings have decided to hold a particularly poorly attended iron filing conference on it, with a hastily thought out seating plan. Therefore, 'Movember' poses a month long problem. I either embrace the thirty day (and night) challenge and end up sporting something that even Gary Neville would pity never mind Burt Reynolds, Des Lynam and a pre 2003 Mark Lawrenson or let my own vanity get in the way, don't get involved and walk down the street every day in November feeling like a vain party pooper and quite literally shamefaced.

I grappled with my own inner demons over whether to go MOvember or NOvember and ultimately wussed out. Here though is my attempt to atone; a short guide to the sort of facial follicle follies you may be encountering daily this month.

The Walrus
As worn by:
Tom Selleck, Burt Lancaster, Men who drink real ale out of tankards or handled glasses and describe all other glassware as 'newfangled' or 'poncey' (I speak from experience). Josef Stalin.

A classic. Sturdy and takes no prisoners (unlike one of the above) but requires considerable dedication to growth. A proper 'lip slug'. Propensity to harbour foodstuffs within it such as cornflakes and soup, basically serves as a hairy picnic basket. Ideal for those who enjoy a no nonsense and minimum effort afternoon snack.

The Handlebar
As worn by:Wyatt Earp, Iron Age Celts, Lord Kitchener, trendy folks in East London one might call 'Hipsters'.

Popular throughout history (many of the Kaisers having sported them, the German rulers, not the band from Leeds). Often requires wax to style, London's Handlebar Club states that qualification for membership is based upon the requirement of having "a hirsute appendage of the upper lip, with graspable extremities". Increasingly seen in the 'cooler' postcodes of London on bright young things who rather than seeing life through rose tinted spectacles gaze upon the world through an Instagram affected lens.

The Pencil
As worn by:Errol Flynn, Bruce Forsyth, Alec Guinness, Prince, 'Johnson' from Peep Show.

For those who like the idea of a moustache but suffer from strangely sensitive lower nostrils. A hairy 'tramline' for the upper lip, favoured by actors of a bygone era, requires high maintenance and regular trimming. Gives one either a thespian or mildly psychotic demeanour, depending on your point of view.

The Horseshoe
As worn by:Hulk Hogan, Angry Australian Cricketers, Lemmy from Motorhead.

Ostensibly a goatee with missing bits; requires a fair bit of pruning to make sure that full beard status is not acquired which would thus render it null and void in the moustache world. Sported in general by men with a lot of testosterone and/or rage issues.

The Fu- Manchu
As worn by:Martial Arts experts, Dr Fu Manchu, Mongol Invaders circa the 13th Century, Evil Villains/Geniuses.

Not for the faint hearted, only really suitable for those who are plotting to take over the world and certainly not suitable for those merely seeking a promotion at work. A shaved 'filtrum' is key (the tricky indented bit under the nose) so maintenance requires a steady hand. Do not attempt filtrum topiary during groggy early mornings or alcohol affected late nights in order to avoid butchering the septum, which is known in the 'tache industry as pulling a 'Westbrook'.

The Toothbrush
As worn by:Charlie Chaplin, Oliver Hardy, Adolf Hitler, Richard Herring, Robert Mugabe... The Gumbys from Monty Python's Flying Circus, Blakey from 'On the Buses'

The Moustache choice of comedians and dictators. Perhaps the most instantly recognisable of all the moustaches it belonged to the world of comedy first. Richard Herring tried to reclaim the toothbrush moustache by dedicating an entire stand-up show to it in 2009, saying "it was Chaplin's first then Hitler ruined it'. Working by this logic, if you see this moustache being sported on the street it is probably fair to assume the person doing the sporting is either thought provokingly funny or abhorrent. Mugabe actually wears a slight variation whereby the moustache is limited to the filtrum only, he looks like a jazz trumpeter whose 'soul patch' (don't get me started) has gone AWOL.

The Dali/ The Englishman
As worn by: Salvador Dali, Hercule Poirot, Dick Dastardly.
A hybrid of the pencil and handlebar this one is for the real exhibitionist... Belgian sleuth or dog owning maniacal car enthusiast. The Englishman variant being a moustache that instead of curling upwards, lies horizontal to the top lip creating a sort of human antennae look. The 'Go-Compare' man wears a corkscrew variant on this theme begging the question why no one has tied his 'graspable extremities' to an anvil and dumped him in the North Sea.]]>