Freewheelin' Bob Dylan [but is he ART?]

At Halcyon Gallery [no 'The'] in Mayfair, you can see 'Mood Swings' - an exhibition of Bob Dylan's artwork. 'Exhibition' makes it sound friendlier and less like a very posh shop than it is. There are two heavies on the door [wired up like FBI goons] and there are roped-off areas where, if you take a peek, you can see offices manned by sharp-suited art-future managers doing deals over the phone. Never mind all that, we're here for the ART.

The 'Zim does roughly four kinds of ART.

1) Pictures.
For his 'Self Portrait' LP, Bob Dylan put a self-portrait on the cover. It doesn't look like him but I still like it because it looks like he didn't try TOO hard and enjoyed doing it. It's loose. At Halcyon we see 4-foot-tall sketches, paintings and prints all in this loose style. Some of them work as decoration because they're colourful and look like things [houses, trees etc.] but most look like Van Gogh homages. They're loose up to a point but when he gets to a face they tighten up & overwork. You want to take an eraser to them and tidy them up although they are supposed to be untidy. You could do better.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self_Portrait_(Bob_Dylan_album)

2) 'Sculptures'.
Specifically: gates and wall hangings made from old bits of iron, spanners, toothed wheels and the like. I have no problem with novelty gates. In Norfolk you often get a garden gate with bullrushes woven into the railings, perhaps climbed by a little mouse or perched-on by a heron. I bet they don't cost £100.000 each. There's a picture of Bob on Halcyon's website, standing astride one of his circular wall iron 'images'. This proves that he did them I suppose; I'm not doubting he has, but I'd rather see a short film of him speaking to camera saying: "I have a team of 200 students doing all the work, I just visit the scrapyard and choose the bits." It would be more like ART that way. Instead, he seems to be saying: "Concentrate, Bob - you're gonna be chargin' huuuge bucks for these...."

http://www.halcyongallery.com/

3) 'Genuine Car Doors Used By The Most Famous Gangsters Still With The Bullet Holes From When They Were Finally Tracked Down By The Cops'*
*Old car doors, with bullet holes and dents, from the gangster era indicated, with a black & white poster about a different gangster with each door. The sort of poster you might get to advertise a village féte or whist drive.

[look close enough and there are no actual claims that these doors belong to those gangsters SO WHY HAVE THE BRASS NECK TO CALL THEM ART & CHARGE TONS OF MONEY FOR THEM?]

4) Enormous Blow-Ups Of Magazine Covers
In which Bob takes a cover of 'LIFE' Magazine, blows it up to 6 feet and changes the headlines. There's a really nice one with Woody Allen, Groucho Marx's son features on another, Gadhafi as Superman... they look impressive. Buuuut they'd look impressive if they were just 'LIFE' magazine covers blown up - because the 'LIFE' logo looks great. But Bob Dylan didn't design the 'LIFE' logo so what is his input? He's found a good printer? The satirical headlines are thought-provoking but printed so sharply as to ruin the illusion that they're original. Again, you could do it yourself. Better. And cheaper.



The best piece is a black & white photo of Bob in his studio, guitar resting on a wall, oil paintings in various stages dotted about the shelves. It's not for sale. I might not know a lot about art, but I know what I like; I might not know a lot about Bob Dylan, but I know he's not ART*.



*apart from the music

Double-Jeopody Plus One

I was short of cash.

The advert said: "Meet Steve Coogan and win £100 in CASH!"
It said stuff about who to ring and the rest, but I won't bore you with that now. I rang the number, spoke to the brother of the bloke in The Mock Turtles and arranged to meet.

In a disused warehouse, somewhere off the North Circular was a portakabin like the one Michael Caine is brainwashed in during 'The I.P.C.R.E.S.S. File'. Cosy like. Outside, dressed as Tony Ferrino, I was met by Steve Coogan [dressed as Steve Coogan].

Inside we were not alone. Reading left to right [or if you're chinese, left to right], Coogan, Bricktop [the cockney thug], Mrs Elsie Lanyard [aged 67] and Hunstanton P. "Bish-Bash-Bosh" McAli [light-heavyweight boxing champion of Dulwich]. I was introduced of course, there was no way of guessing all that other information.

"Edward", started Coogan, "congratulations on making it this far in the quest for one hundred pounds. You have been chosen for three reasons over and above the other entrants; 1) You can drive 2) Mrs Elsie Lanyard [aged 67] liked your picture and 3) You look like you could fight a bit but not too much. Now here's the deal: We'll give you one hundred pounds in, we're speculating here, used fivers if you can a) Accompany Bricktop to the Dulwich branch of HSBC and *cockney accent* turn it over. You'll be driving. Or b) Make a short, instructive video that may or may not contain scenes of a sexual nature with Mrs Elsie Lanyard [aged 67]..."
*wink* from Mrs L [aged 67]
"...or c) Go toe-to-toe, man-on-man, mano-on-mano, glove-to-glove, for richer for poorer over three three-minute rounds against Hunstanton P. "Bish-Bash-Bosh" McAli [he's a boxer]."

I stroked my chin, which didn't respond.

The bank job was tempting but the chance of being banged up for armed robbery didn't inspire [I was guessing about the tools, but it was daylight and within normal business hours so a good guess]. Mrs Elsie Lanyard [I'm guessing between 65 & 70] seemed a nice enough sort but, really. As for Hunstanton P. [I later found out it stood for 'Philadelphia', not because he was from there but it's his favourite cheese] "Bish-Bash-Bosh" McAli, I reckoned I could take him easy.

Steve, 'Top & Els seemed disappointed with my choice. Reassuringly, so did 'Phil.

The ring was shabby, the ropes were not strong enough to actually keep you in the ring if you so much as leaned on them, there was no bell [someone had brought a triangle along] and all four corners were red, which confused the announcer.

I've seen the "Thriller In Manila", but poor old Hunstanton Doo-Dah couldn't fight his way into a manila envelope, let alone out of a paper bag. I caught him with a south or north paw, I can't remember, and next thing I know his mum is in the ring attacking me with her shoe. Three stitches.

After the blood was mopped up...

"Edward, congratulations. To be honest we weren't expecting this result - I for one was sure you'd go for the bank job - which is why we don't have the hundred pounds, which would probably have been in used fivers, to give you. Luckily, Mrs Elsie Lanyard [still young enough to hold a driver's license] has agreed to escort Bricktop to HSBC.
In the meantime, the posh bloke out of #Gogglebox is here to give you your trophy.

Enter, the worse for two bottles of red, Dom Parker, holding one of those tiny cups, a proportionally accurate F.A. Trophy just big enough for an egg.
"Whatto", piped Dom, "well done and all that, top fisticuffs, I say, couldn't do me a favour old chap? I'm not sure I'm safe to drive, what with them having a television next door and an open bar. Deliver this box of chockies to my Auntie Glenda in Barstead Avenue on your way home and there's an extra quid in it for you..."





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In The Kitchen At Parties

We were kindly invited to a party by @TheOfficialMWF, entertained by grand kitchen creator Michael Wilkinson and Chef @MichelRouxJr, who provided the gorgeous canapés. We took some photos.

Michael Wilkinson, our charming and colourful host.

A Pre smoked salmon & quails egg-fueled crowd.

"Can you make it out to Gordon Ramsay, that's R. A. M.."

Ritz® Crackers have a lot to live up to.

Sebastian, assembler of canapés and assistant to the Chef

Cheers!

Chef Michel Roux [I offered to wash up]

Don Quixote: A Restricted Review

Last night to The Royal Opera House for Don Quixote; a ballet. In case you've never been, it's like a play with much less talking and more music, or a prom with tons more dancing. Pre-show snack was a jumbo sausage roll and a banana from the Sainsbury's opposite Holborn tube, £2:10. 

The story revolves around the titular Don, seemingly going off his trolley and onto a giant robot horse, followed by a tiny man in lots of padding called Sancho. Sancho drinks, gets beaten up by girls and is carried off by Dementors before making a triumphant return in time to see Don ride off into the sunset on his giant robot horse.

A curtain, yesterday.

That's a GIANT ROBOT HORSE. The ears twitch and everything.

There's also a soppy old love story with dad not letting daughter see the one she loves and wanting her to marry the fop instead. Only scene-changes and gypsy bullfighters can make sense prevail. A giant robot horse! It's all magical.

I lost count of how many were in the orchestra; it was at least 38. We had a good view of the brass section, dressed in dicky bows despite playing in a pit. They looked relaxed throughout, very much the orchestra in form. The conductor had as many curtain calls as the dancers which seemed a bit rich.

"It's not a real horse." "Sshh."

Paul Hogan was right about the trousers. I mean, what if there's an accident?

At one point one of the 'rinas dropped her fan - do you think they have little huddles before the show for such moments? The others could have thrown their fans to the ground in solidarity, but no. The final flourish of that section had the girls posing impossibly on one toe, waving their fans like no tomorrow. Our friend went for *hand on hip* which was a nice compromise.

Look at him milking it - didn't dance a single step!

At the end the story takes a rest while the stars do their final showing off floor exercise. These people are in the absolute peak of physical condition and deserve every "bravo". Go and see 'Don Quixote' at The Royal Opera House if you can.

See, they did all the work and have to sneak out the side of the curtain. There's no justice.

An enormous THANK YOU to @msmarchers for the chance to enjoy such a fantastic evening. x

Trouble With Boris

"Your back wheel's following you, if you're lucky."

An experiment was carried out, removed, and another one brought in in its place. Over 24 hours, spread over 2 days, we would find out how good the Boris Bikes are. Our perspective only.

For £2 you can hire a Borispeed for 24 hours. This sounds like a sweet deal and it is, as long as you follow some procedures. First you pay for your 24 hours then, and only then, you repost your credit/debit card to receive your release codes. You tap these codes on the bike dock until it flashes green - then wrestle the rather heavy machine out of its housing. There is a knack involving a lifting motion but most people we saw appeared red-faced and bruised before getting on.

The first docking station we found was full of bikes - this is not a good sign, it means the payment/ticket machine is not working.

The next station had a working payment screen but all the bikes were showing a red light and couldn't be removed; so we had tickets for that station but no bike to ride [the tickets are 'live' for 10 minutes, becoming void thereafter and not transferable to another station].

Once on your bike, to avoid paying more you must dock and re-hire within 30 minutes. Go over and you are charged an extra £1 - go over your 24 hours and it's £150 added to your card.

Aaaanyway. The third station we found had the holy trinity of working screen, working bikes and available bikes. We high-fived, adjusted our saddles [big], checked our gears [3], brakes [hefty] and were off.

For about 20 minutes all is well, then the spectre of extra payment starts nagging. We found a place to dock but there were no bikes available to take out; another walk....

All the stations we saw had little crowds of confused tourists, either trying to work out the payment process or wondering why the bike with a red light flashing couldn't be wrestled out of its home.

Our next ride went over the half-hour. I mean, life's too short right?

Fair game [10 points for a direct hit].

It was nice going through Hyde Park, moaning at the dozy pedestrians instead of walking through Hyde Park moaning at the dozy cyclists. Tip: if you're english, the little "brring-brring" bell is a viable and acceptable means of warning folks you are about to stove them in two from behind. Tourists, who are less reserved, keep theirs going non-stop and expect you to respond with a smile. Join in. Boris, you might want to add Raleigh Chopper-style saddles for hipsters and baby Boris bikes for the littles. You're welcome. Also, these bikes have CONSTANTLY flashing lights. CONSTANTLY. That means Boris Johnson has discovered perpetual motion and kept it mainly to himself.

The Borissettes,  including Invisible Kevin third from left. Note they're not moving, Boris Johnson.

We started late on Saturday afternoon and docked our last bikes near the Albert Hall 23-and-a-bit hours later. The station contained an almost full rack of bikes and a broken payment point.

"Get off and milk it!" etc.

Richard Herring, Alive

Yesterday evening, not quite as hot as recent evenings, we went to Battersea Arts Centre to see Richard Herring perform his Edinburgh warm-up/try-out show 'We're All Going To Die'.

We sat right at the front. If you've ever been on a manual-handling course you'll know the potential danger of doing this: "Can we have a volunteer from the audience to show us how not to lift this sack of loam..." What if this is an interactive show? Does Richard do Hypnotism? What if he makes fun of my lazy eye? Who says I've got a lazy eye? You wanna start something? Yeah, you're all talk. Anyway, we sat, as I say, RIGHT at the front.

The Props

The stage consisted of a small round table with a jug of water, a plastic beaker and Richard's notes. If we'd had that spy ability to read upside-down and a bit sideways we could have sneaked a preview.

During the show, Richard took two sips of water. 

Richard didn't sweat profusely. This makes him tons better than Lee Evans. I mean, eeearghhh right? When my mum went to see David Essex at Southend's Cliffs Pavillion, she was impressed that David didn't swear or sweat once. Time's have changed; Richard used cuss words and my mum's no longer with us for a start. 

We went all the way to Battersea Arts Centre and all we got were lolz and this lousy picture.

We were worried Richard might trip over the wire from the microphone.

I won't spoil the show by remembering all the jokes and documenting them here. It must be rubbish having to make notes during an entertainment, or having to take photos - surely you can't enjoy the show completely. I take photos all the time but even with the flash turned off, Richard would have noticed the idiot 3 feet in front of him snapping away. I took some once it was obvious the show was over but why? I knew I'd been there. Richard can get a photographer to take his picture anytime. Also, that was the time to join in the applause. 

Richard's costume for the show: Faded, red 'Superdry' T-shirt, well-worn jeans with a biro in the right-hand pocket [perhaps a tribute to Harry Hill?] and casual turn-ups, complemented by a pair of proper spangley trainers - the sort that suggest serious jogging is at least a possibility. Richard has lovely hair.

See Richard Herring if you can.

www.richardherring.com

@Herring1967

Gentlemen & Players

To walk or not to walk? That was the question yesterday. Stuart Broad hit a cricket ball and the Australian captain caught it - even in the garden, aged 7, that is out. It's in the laws of the game [yes LAWS, not rules] behind the biggest of them all: that the players should always uphold the spirit of the game. In club cricket you often get umpires who are on the same side as the batsman, ex-players who still love to be involved. Umpiring or scoring are chores to younger members and there ARE a lot of laws to remember, as well as being able to count up to six. As a result of this, you can get 'howlers'.

A 'howler' is a rank bad decision e.g. an l.b.w. given out when the batsman has clearly hit the ball, or given out caught when he clearly hasn't. I played in a match [my last in fact] when an opposition batsman was caught behind the wicket off a thick edge which everybody heard - the umpire was the batsman's father, he went on to score the winning runs. I also played in league matches where the opposition insisted on their umpires officiating the whole match - they were very generous with l.b.w. decisions, sometimes raising the finger-of-doom before the appeal was made.

Henry Blofeld, the Test Match Special commentator, epitomises the era of the game when if a player nicked one and was caught, he walked off the pitch without forcing the umpire to make a decision. After yesterday's incident he was asked if he always walked and recalled the only time he didn't. The umpire gave young Henry out and approached him at an interval, "Blowers, don't ever do that to me again!"

Ironically it was the australians who invented NOT walking - ex England captain Michael Atherton was caught behind in Australia and didn't walk, one of the Aussies asked him why not, "When in Rome, dear boy, when in Rome..." - but this doesn't excuse what happened yesterday. In the split second after hitting the ball, Stuart Broad would have thought "I'm out." For those who've never played, that's a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach; at sunday club level it means your day's fun is over and unless you bowl you're sentenced to hours of self-recrimination and FIELDING [urgh]. At Test level it means the old enemy have carte blanche to send you on your way with some choice words about your manhood, parenthood etc. Broad decided not to walk. Even if he'd been given out he is notorious for asking for decisions against him to be referred to the third umpire - a man sat in front of a tv, fed various views of each incident to help his on-field colleagues. It might have been a no-ball, but this is the only thing that could have saved him. Unfortunately for Australia, they had used their two chances to 'go upstairs', otherwise Broad would have been despatched eventually.

Broad didn't break any rules, but he broke the first law of cricket; it's understandable WHY he did and I think we should be reluctant to judge him too harshly. England can point to two 'howlers' from the first innings; Jonathan Trott was wrongly given out l.b.w. and young australian Ashton Agar was stumped on 6, survived a review and went on to make a game-changing 98. This is irrelevant, it would have sent a message to young players and sunday players up & down the country to respect the umpire and respect the spirit of the game - I wish he had walked.

P.S.
At lunchtime yesterday, in the Test Match Special commentary box, the cricket-loving band The Duckworth Lewis Method [named after an equation used to estimate a one-day innings total when rain-affected] played two songs - 'Gentlemen & Players' and 'It's Just Not Cricket' - the second of which had free-form vocal help from Henry Blofeld himself.

All-Day Drinking: A Study

Beer [exterior]

Ahhh hello, and yes, you are my best friends and I love you all. I've had a drink you see, it has an effect: I asked my mate, "when's the best time of day for drinking?" and he said, "Whaa? ALL the bloody time! LAGER LAGER LAGER!" *shouting* "LAGER LAGER LAGER!" AND SO IT WENT ON sorry, and so it went on. But what if you like a drink but you're on a budget? No-one, and I mean no-one [or I wouldn't have said it] can afford to go to a pub these days - those titweazels on 'Made In Chelsea' don't count, they are made of a chipboard/asbestos/black pudding yeast-like paste that only vaguely resembles people and their drinks are funded by BAFTA anyway. Perhaps you only have an hour a day or an hour a week when you can indulge; perhaps you are holding down a job. Imagine that. Some drink to forget, some drink to remember, if only the two could meet, they might stop drinking and suddenly know EVERYTHING and take 'Mastermind' to the cleaners, or forget the lot and become chefs. Who knows. No honestly, if you know tell the rest of us and give us your name - perhaps the whole question of who 'they' are can be answered once and for all.

It seems that there are some specific windows of drinking opportunity:

1] As soon as you wake up: You are probably an alcoholic, or should perhaps consider it. The 'Hair Of The Dog' my arse.

2] Breakfast Time: I've seen pictures on Facebook of a friend of mine with a plate of home-made chocolate eclairs with a 'Grolsch' bottle opened and "the breakfast of champions" beside it. Looks very tempting - I can't eat savoury things WHILE drinking beer, but fruit and sweet things go down a treat. But breakfast time? Aren't you just a couple of bad bets away from 1]?

3] Lunchtime: Ahh the memories. Before the recession, no not this one, the one before that, I had a job that involved pub lunches and pub meetings. At it's zenith, we would wish each other good morning, go through the 'minutes' of the previous day and while one of us stayed behind to take calls [there was a rota] the rest would get the tables set up outside The Marquis. Or there was the job in the big publishing company where EVERYBODY'S birthday was indicated on a calendar and because there were six floors full of folks, hardly a day went by without the need to celebrate Ken-in-accounts's big bash, although we wouldn't know Ken if he jumped out of our glasses. If the boss asked where we'd been on Beaugolais Nouveau day, we'd say the Arsenal double-winning squad of '71 had come in and you know how Frank McLintock likes a drop....
Trouble is, if you drink at lunchtime it knocks you out for the rest of the day. Unless you carry on drinking.

4] Instead of lunch: See 1]

5] While making dinner: This is my favourite, cook something that takes an hour and you've time for that two-drink buzz and appetite build-up. As soon as the savoury stuff is ready to eat, all thoughts of beer are quashed. If you like the vin de tables, there is of course the danger of 'Floyding' it.

6] Instead of dinner: See 1]

7] Evening time/ while tweeting/ while watching 'Made In Chelsea': Makes you sleepy/ sloppy/ angry in variable measures. Measures! Ahh sodoffyabastid.

Beer [interior]

please read responsibly

'This House' A Late Review

Bong.

Hello; I'm not a theatre critic [hooray] but we went to the theatre last night and there were one or two talking points. We booked on the day and had a choice of returns at £48 or standing at £5 plus 5% charity donation. The show was 'This House' - a satirical, a-little-bit-musical look at the Labour government from 1974 until HER coming to power in '79.

Standing at the theatre reminded me of Upton Park pre-Heysel, perhaps a midweek Milk Cup tie against Leicester City. You have a restricted view but you can move about to get a better angle - important with this production, where every inch of the auditorium [if that's what we can call it.. 37% "yes", 21% "no", 16% "none of the above", 16% "none of the below". So we're running with it...] is used. There are audience members on the stage in two balconies and two 'sides of The House' which are swiveled by cast members to be opposing or as-one depending on the scene. We assume you pay extra-through-the-nose to be up there or there's a ballot with a two-thirds majority deciding whether a bill on further audience members taking part can be ratified in a special motions billWHATEVER THEY'RE ON STAGE SO DEAL WITH IT. As the drama unfurls [98% "yes" on that one *thumbs*] some of the audience joined in, waving imaginary ballot papers, jeering or adding "aye"s to the left and "no"s to the right. This is perhaps the problem with standing: you tend to notice the 'business' more, free as you are to look 90º to the left or right of the speaker without disconcerting your next-seat neighbour. This could also explain why I'm not a theatre critic, because I want to look at that stuff and if I get a gist of the plot too then tiddley pom.

Standing etiquette: You can't pay £5 with a 5% donation to charity to watch a show and have a better seat than those who've weighed-out. Don't sit on the stairs - it's against health & safety and the usher will be angry with you if you do. No ushers were present inside, but rules are rules. Don't lean on the back of the last row of seats; do you like people looking over your shoulder while you're DMing your cousin Marge? No you don't. And people can sense when someone is *just there* behind them, especially if you keep jogging on the spot and moving your plastic bag six inches either way every time the action moves to the other side of the stage. This sixth sense for someone being *just there* is actually made up of the other five senses; so think about that too.

The show was a few minutes old, there was a short opening dance sequence which was worrying, then a late-comer arrived. She mimed "fuck it, I'm late" doing a little stampy dance and shaking her hands to try to get more attention. She then paced about in a circle, desperately hoping someone would notice. We did because we were next to her. She then sat on the stairs. When we told her not to, she did the stampy dance hand shaking thing again and settled down to look at her mobile for the rest of Act1. She didn't return for Act2. Neither did [*spoiler klaxon*] Phil Daniels.

I'm almost forgetting the show: Phil Daniels plays Labour Whip Bob Melish and he's very good indeed; starts the show shouting a bit too loud but settles down to a more normal level quickly enough. The Conservatives are played by posher actors or good actors making it look like they're posher; whichever it is, it works brilliantly - there are lots of cast members, announced every time by The Speaker and if you imagine 'Yes Minister', 'The Thin [rather than Thick] Of It' and a Newsnight tribute to the Labour government from 1974-79 narrated by Jeremy Vine [not Paxman] you've got a fair idea what you're in for. Talking of 'The Thick Of It', Vincent Frankin plays Steve Pemberton playing Michael Cocks, another Labour Whip. I knew Franklin was in it but couldn't work out where because Steve Pemberton seemed to be running about the stage instead although he's not in it.

Back to the initially worrying music: "No! It's not a musical FFS?" Thank heavens no, but it contains some music. A bit like walking past a Snickers® when you've got a nut allergy. Up top, at the back of the stage [which doubles as Westminster Bridge and trebles as the inside of 'Big Ben'] sits a little trio who stand up when they play. Phil Daniels returns in Act2 to sing a Bowie song and he [if you'll excuse the X factorese] nails it. Makes it his own, gives it some welly, nickynackynoo. My only criticism of the band is that when they do 'Pretty Vacant' later, the drummer jazzes it up too much - instead of turning the drumsticks around and pounding away, it's all brrrrrmptitish paradiddle. When you stand up at the theatre you can't help noticing this sort of thing. Also you can dance to the music if you so choose, which we did so there. They even played some tunes after the bows, otherwise we would've been the first ones out, having such prime spots for a hasty exit.

To sum up, if you can afford a seat, go and see 'This House', I gave it 8 out of 10, my partner is still pondering so we go for a hung, Lib-Lab, 7 and a half. If you are undecided then pay a fiver [with a 5% donation to charity] and what have you got to loose? If you like it, get a seat and watch it properly, perhaps from the stage itself.

Bong.

21st Century Schizoids

Hello.
I'll come straight to the point; have you got another account? I have, but [in the words of Monty Python] it's all part of growing up and being British. Or American. Or Dutch. Or on Twitter.

I'm sure you have good reason to have a second [third, fourth...] account: perhaps you run your own business and don't want to spam normal Twitter friends with plugs for your diamante ladders or new novel about a child wizard who supports Scunthorpe... whatever; I did another account.

I recently saw "@followers:26k/following500" tweet that they also followed other "sources" for work purposes - this must make a lot of sense when you're a journalist and many of your tweets are announcements; but I've long suspected other big accounts of 'glove-puppeting'. This is where they have another @ to big-up the main one or diss rivals in extreme cases, or follow loads of other tweeters to find out what's going on without ruining the pristine "look-how-cool-I-am-I-only-have-to-follow-100" profile. Perhaps there's an app for it, who knows. I pity them, it must be awful.

An example:
Account with 30k followers and following 50 suddenly tweets "will you all STOP going on about Margaret Thatcher!"
"All"?
Do you remember what your timeline looked like when you only followed 50 people? If you follow 700 [as I do] and hopefully all of them are humans with something interesting to say [or RT by someone else], it's hardly going to cause a strobe-fit.
No, something's going on I reckon.

But that's them, what about us?
I started this other account ages ago and wanted to follow different people and be more ruthless unfollowing and blah blah blah it was fun for a while but didn't make me any happier. Then I started a different other account with my partner for "business" - like having two mobile phones, one for work, one for friends. Things I've found:

a] It's ridiculously easy to get followers for followers sake without going the dreaded TeamFollowBack route. Click on a recommended account, check they're not tweeting "win free 10-hour colonic scrub" every 30 seconds, see if they follow as many as follow them and press the button. It might take a few days for them to notice, but you've reeled them in...

Note: this is fun for a little while but only a little while; bit like playing solitaire or completing a jigsaw puzzle - the bits are already there, so no skill required.

b] You find yourself minding your language.

c] The account has an animal theme, so lots of animal-related accounts followed. Sadly, with animal accounts come animal cruelty stories and pictures of animal cruelty stories. I admire campaigners for animal rights of course, but a constant stream of horror, graphic images and descriptions became very disturbing very quickly. And I found out loads of new examples I hadn't previously heard of, making it even worse.

d] Some accounts are pure accidental comedy gold [I'm not joking about the diamante ladders for instance]

This is the thing with Twitter: ultimately it's about who you follow, not who follows you. Yes, those big accounts are always #FFing each other and they might not reply to you, but they're usually big accounts for a reason. Try a second account for yourself; it could be the release of frustration you need to get over writer's block or somesuch - as long as you have fun with it. What will become of our new venture? Gawd knows, perhaps we keep playing Follower-Jigsaw until it reaches 100K and sell it; like those TeamFollowBack guys...

I'd love to hear any of your other-account thoughts and experiences. x

Wish You Were There

HELLO! HAVING A GREAT TIME, WEATHER MIXED SO FAR.....

Loading and then unloading boxes for a recent move I chanced upon the postcard collection. Some I kept because the pictures on the front were nice enough to frame one day, some because of their comedy value [*scandanavians blowing ENORMOUS horns*, a postcard from Hel etc.] and the ones from dad. From 1988, when I was still at home looking after the pooch while they tripped, to 2007 when they no longer went abroad and were in declining health, dad would send a card. I think he saw it as a duty and perhaps a chore, but he knew I liked collecting so humoured me.

They were always written in capitals, usually contained one 'we're getting old' joke and had a certain rhythm to them. They are also a marker to my own life changes, the different addresses instantly take me back to those times, happy, sad or otherwise.

MENORCA THURS. 9.6.88.

DEAR ED & JUDY.

HAVING A GREAT TIME. WEATHER MIXED SO FAR, BUT WE'VE MANAGED TO GET A BIT OF COLOUR. HOTEL & FOOD COULDN'T BE BETTER. WENT ROUND THE ISLAND YESTERDAY. SEE YOU SOON
Ernie

There was a time when we called dad 'Ernie', 'Ern' or 'Ernst' [sis' kept to 'dad' I think]. Later we reverted to 'dad' out of respect, you shouldn't call your dad by his first name right? This must have been teenage rebellion that hung on too long.

ITALIA 6. 5. 90.

JUST GOT BACK FROM SORRENTO TOWN WINDOW SHOPPING! HAVING A GOOD TIME SO FAR. WEATHER SUNNY & WARM. SCENERY REALLY BEAUTIFUL. FOOD GOOD & HOTEL GOOD. GOING TO ROME TUESDAY & CAPRI FRIDAY. (DON'T FORGET MAY'S BIRTHDAY 16TH!) SEE YOU SOON.
"THE OLD FOGIE"
Ernie

Mum & dad's best friends lived in the next street in the Dagenham grid. Joyce & Ern started going on holiday with Joyce & Ern. Two lots of Joyce & Erns within a hundred yards of each other, it had to happen.

MALAGA TUES 9.6.92. 17.45 PM.

ED,
1 HOUR DELAY ON FLIGHT OUT. HOTEL ROOMS OK. FOOD NOTHING TO WRITE HOME ABOUT, SO I WON'T! WEATHER GREAT, SUNNY, BUT WINDY, WHICH KEEPS THE TEMPERATURE REASONABLE. WENT TO LOCAL MARKET TO-DAY. ERN DROVE THE HIRE CAR (AN OPEL CORSA CITY ABOUT THE SIZE OF A FIESTA).
SEE YOU SOON
ERNST.

MENORCA 19. 5. 94.*

DEAR ED.
NOW I'M 65 THEY SAY I'LL BE THE NEXT MEGALITH ON THE ISLAND! HAVING A GREAT TIME. SUN, SEA & SAND AND ALL THE FOOD YOU CAN EAT & MORE! I WAS DRAGGED ON TO THE STAGE LAST NIGHT & NOW PEOPLE KEEP COMING UP TO ME & SAYING "YOU'RE ERNIE, YOU WERE GOOD!!!" WE'LL RING YOU WHEN WE GET HOME, SEE YOU SOON
Ernst!
*dad's birthday

MALLORCA TUES 26/10/95

DEAR ED.
WE'LL BE HOME BEFORE YOU GET THIS CARD BUT THOUGHT I'D SEND ONE ANYWAY. OUR HOTEL IS THE ONE ON THE LEFT HAND FAR DISTANCE. GETTING READY FOR DINNER, GETTING BROWNED OFF IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY. UP THE HAMMERS!
Ernst

ES CANA 1/10/99

DEAR ED.
HOTEL OK. LOTS OF FOOD. WEATHER UP TO TO-DAY WINDY, CLOUDY & WARM. TO-DAY IT'S NO LONGER WINDY, SUN IS OUT & IT'S GOING TO BE A SCORCHER BY THE LOOK OF IT. OFF TO THE MARKET SOON. THEN WHO KNOWS? GETTING BROWNED OFF IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY. PROBABLY BE HOME BEFORE YOU GET THIS.
MUM & DAD

FRIDAY 1700 HRS. 26TH SEPT'03

DEAR ALL,
HAVING A GREAT TIME, SAME HOTEL AS WE CAME TO IN MARCH, HAD A THUNDERSTORM IN THE NIGHT BUT IT CLEARED BY MORNING. THIS IS FIRST DAY OF PROPER WEATHER, LET'S HOPE IT STAYS FOR 3 MORE WEEKS. UP THE IRONS! GOOD TO SEE THEY WON SHAME ABOUT SPURS!
PATER.

MALTA 22/2/2006 [AS REQUESTED]
DEAR ED ET AL.
HAVING A GREAT TIME. LOTS OF DANCING FOOD & WALKING. 2 MORE WEEKS TO GO NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO HOME. I'VE PHONED SUE & DAVE & I'LL PHONE ON FRIDAY. (THAT'S RATHER SILLY COS YOU'LL GET THIS CARD AFTER I'VE PHONED!) SILLY ME! I'LL ALSO PHONE WHEN WE GET HOME. HOTEL & COMPANY 1ST CLASS! GOING FOR A SHORTER WALK ON MY OWN, LONGER WALK EARLIER ALL OF US LOOKING BROWNED OFF IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY!
STILL SUNNY OUTSIDE.
DAD & MUM



 Wish they were here. x