RIP Tony Hart

It’s a sad day today. Children’s TV legend Tony Hart has died at the age of 83. I used to love watching his shows as the man was undoubtedly a talented artist. I have to admit though I mainly watched to see the car wrecks that sometimes made it into the famous gallery sequence. That was a rare occurrence though. Most of the pictures displayed an incredible level of skill and talent; especially given the ages of some of the artists.

One thing I liked about Tony was how different he was from the shows around him. His shows were slow paced and never talked down to the audience. He was like an old time art teacher that enjoyed his subject and dressed like a grand old Tory country gentleman. ITV was busy ramming Neil Buchanan’s Art Attack down our throats with its bright spangly colours and ten second segments. Tony meanwhile was content to show us how we could all do art from his studio set that looked like an actual artists loft.

Rest in peace Tony Hart.

Fascist Speed Impulse

The recent fatal crash on the M8 mention on BBC News and the article about a Hibs striker being fined £300 for doing 94MPH along a 70MPH limit motorway has got me thinking.

You see, as a non-driver I’ve often wondered why there’s such a massive fuss about speed limits and speeding. Most modern buses, lorries and the vast majority of vans are fitted with electronic or mechanical speed limiters that keep them within the law. In many cases it is a legal requirement for them to be fitted. So my question is why can’t the same rules be applied to the millions of cars on our roads? Better yet, why allow the sale and manufacture of vehicles that can exceed these limits in the first place. Short of some ancient clapped out banger I have trouble thinking of a single car available today that can’t exceed at least 100MPH. The Lamborghini Gallardo involved in the fatal car crash on the M8 has a top speed somewhere between 190MPH and 205MPH depending on the model. I’m no maths wiz, but that looks like it can easily do double the speed limit when really pushed. I’ll be honest and say that I won’t be a bit surprised if it turns out the guy was speeding along trying to impress his lady friend in the passenger seat and lost control of the car. Luckily the woman in the passenger side has survived even though she’s seriously injured.

The UK national speed limit is 70MPH. Built up areas are generally 30MPH but in many areas they’ve been reduced further Many parts of towns are now either 20MPH limits or have extensive traffic calming, and often both, which further limits any scope or need to go faster than the prescribed limit.

I can’t really see the point in buying a super car that can go from zero to sixty in less than five seconds or hit the high 190’s for a top speed when the fastest I could ever legally go is 70MPH.  Let me put this another way: If Ayrton Senna one of the greatest formula one drivers of all time can lose control of a car designed specifically for the purpose of racing, while driving on a heavily regulated and maintained track surface, and smash into a wall at 135MPH. What the hell is any Tom, Dick or Harry doing driving at 100MPH+ on the pockmarked, chewed up excuses for roads that comprise the UK motorway network?

It seems to me that there are a lot of people out there who overestimate their own abilities when it comes to driving. People who drive for a living are especially guilty at this. You know the type, cutting along the motorway at 80 or 90MPH with their suit jacket hanging n the handle in the back seat, chatting on their hands free and weaving back and forth in and out of traffic. The worst of it is that these people themselves often walk away from any accident with a couple of broken bones, but the people they hit are invariably a lot less lucky.

Most drivers are law abiding and considerate. 70MPH is more than enough for them, and they stay within the limit without any problems. The trouble is that the law is based on the assumption that most people will simple obey it because it is the law, and this works in the main. The trouble is that the very people who buy high performance cars are the same ones I think that would be naturally inclined to try them out to their full potential. Think about it the next time you’re out walking or on the motorway. How many times are you overtaken by someone that’s well over the speed limit? Happens fairly often doesn’t it? Now out of them what would you say are the proportions between powerful and/or sporty saloons like an Audi A4 or BMW 3 series versus a smaller more family oriented car like the New Mini or Ford Focus.

There’s no need for a car that can do 200MPH if you are never supposed to go any faster than 70MPH.  If the government are determined that the fastest any car should be driven on a UK roads is 70MPH then they should simply force manufactures to either limit the cars, or design them specifically so they can’t go any faster. While they’re at it they cold design them to be more fuel efficient, produce cleaner emissions and to use fewer resources in their production. Obviously I’d make exceptions for emergency vehicles, but only when they’re responding to an actual emergency situation.

If anyone else wants to fly around at 70MPH+ in their quarter million super cars then they should take it to a sanctioned speedway track or old airfield where they can do so in safety and security where thing at risk is their own neck.

EDIT – Is anyone else sick of seeing police cars turning on their sirens just to get through a set of traffic lights? I see at least two examples of this thing a day and every time I see it makes me shake my head in despair.

Incidentally, while I’m ranting about cars, why the hell does anyone living in the middle of Glasgow need a 4 wheel drive pickup beast that looks like it belongs on a Texas ranch anyway?

Travelling Man

I took an odd notion today and I’m not sure what prompted it, but I fancy a sojourn down to the lands of Dumfries and Galloway. I think it’s the result of a healthy dose of nostalgia coupled with seven hours spent pouring over job sheets for a contractor that’s based down in Dumfries.

Given that this is being touted as the Scottish Homecoming Year and that it’s 250 years since the birth of Rabbie Burns the South Ayrshire Messiah. I think 2009 would be a perfect candidate for a grand tour of the South West of Scotland.

I’ve been putting together a list of things in the South West I think everyone should go and visit for a day. Some of these are fairly personal choices based on childhood nostalgia and so on, but others are genuinely interesting I promise.

I’ll start from the infamous Glasgow and head south:

Dean Castle and Country Park, Kilmarnock: They have a castle, they have woods, deer and sometimes they even have historical re-enactment days. It’s also free to go. I haven’t been since I was at primary school and I vaguely remember being convinced that someone was watching me from the rafters in the great hall…

Loudoun Hill, by Darvel: an ancient volcanic plug just over 316m high. I grew up in its reassuringly dumpy shadow, but I’m sad to say I’ve never climbed it. This year is hereby nominated the year. You’re all welcome to join me.

Mauchline: this is more of a personal indulgence than the others. My grandparents all lived in Mauchline, my parents grew up there, met there, got married there etc. The town itself has a lot of memories for me. None more so that fishing with my Papa during the summer holidays at his well hidden fishing hole under the towering Howfort Brig. The impressive Ballochmyle Viaduct, the world’s larges single span masonry arch runs across the river Doon near the village.  There’s also a castle hidden somewhere in the middle of town, and that tinker Rabbie Burns might have wynched a few local lassies about there too… I might also recommend a drop into Poosie Nansies which hasn’t seemingly changed a bit since Burns himself frequented it. In other news the café in Kilmarnock Road used to have a classic coffee table space invaders game the likes of which haven’t been seen since the 1970’s.

The Wellington Café, Ayr: At the junction of Alloway Place, Fort Street and the Sandgate just across from Ayr bus station. I don’t know what it’s like nowadays, but going to the Wellington used to be a hallmark of a family trip to Ayr. The plates of chips were outstanding back in the day.

Culzean Castle: I’ve been at this stonking great beast of a country mansion a couple of times, but truth be told I’ve never actually been inside the damn thing. Maybe 2009 should be the year I have a look at the extensive collections of shiny weapons and the famous. Nearby is also the interestingly named Gas House which has an exhibition about William Murdoch.

The Electric Brae: a stretch of road between Dunure and Maybole that is where the laws of gravity bend and break while subjected to the warping evil emanating from that strange land. OK so really it’s a world famous optical illusion caused by the lie of the land surrounding the road, but I like to think that McDowall was somehow responsible for this perversion of the natural order of things. Folk from Maybole can skip this bit as they’re all sick of hearing about the damn thing apparently.

Closeburn: lying between the town of Thornhill and Dumfries this small and sleepy hamlet doesn’t have much to see, but apparently my grandparents and great grandparents originated from around this area. I seem to remember that one of the great grandad’s worked on the railway here.

Castle Douglas, and more specifically Lochside Caravan & Camping Site on the banks of Carlinwark Loch. My folks and I used to go on holiday there at the summer and in our old Thompson caravan. My Gran and Papa were fond of the place as well and would usually keep their caravan there for most of the season. I’ve got a lot of fond memories of the time we spent there and the people I met. There’s also a very good chip shop at the western end of the town, and I remember their being a caravan and camping shop with some fairly unique smells. It’s a bustling, active town as well with a lot of local shops. Barry Smart’s bookshop was always a favourite with my sister and I as it had a huge toy section in the back, and it was also stocked with more magazines than I’d ever seen before. I seem to remember it was the only place you could just buy New Atari User off the shelf.

Dumfries: the county town of Dumfriesshire is a bustling place, and my sister and I always made a beeline for the giant toy ship in Friars Vennel. The toy store is sadly long since gone, but there’s a lot to Dumfries that I’ve never seen. Most prominent of these would be the famous camera obscura that overlooks the town from the top of a nearby ridge above the River Nith. There’s also an air museum and a whole boatload of stuff about Rabbie Burns to see, and to continue my earlier theme, there used to be a very good chip shop in Friars Vennel just along from what used to be What Everyone Wants. I’ve not been in Dumfries for many years now, in fact I don’t think I’ve been there since I started at Uni in the late nineties so I assume a lot has changed about the town since then.

I’m sure I’ll think of many more things I’d like to see in the South West, but I think I’ve ramble enough for one post. Feel free to add suggestions or your own nostalgic patter in the comments.

Pinderstriped

I see the latest series of Celebrity Big Brother has begun to infect the airwaves with its txt-voting powered so called entertainment. The Sun and the Daily Record are agog that the first person evicted is glamour model Lucy Pinder. Now normally the next paragraph would be filled with a rant about how I don’t think being a so called glamour model is a valid career choice, but for once, you’re wrong.

You see I’m amused and bemused at the intelligence and to a certain degree the humility shown by Ms. Pinder after her eviction. During the post eviction interview when asked why she thought she had been voted out by the public Lucy replied, “It’s probably because I have not got my clothes off.”  She elaborated on her decision to say that she “was really uncomfortable. I take my clothes off for a living but there is a time and a place for it and it’s totally different when you’re in a house with 10 strangers.” Good on the lass, I think she made the right decision, especially after reading the Channel 4 Big Brother bio. It really gives you an insight into what the producers were looking for:

Spotted sunbathing on a Bournemouth beach in 2003, Lucy’s rise to fame has been spectacular – helped in no small part by her, ahem, assets. And in case you were wondering, they are a 32G.

To be fair though they do list quite a few facts about her including the fact that she’s got 11 GCSEs and 2 A-Levels, but clearly she’s been hired mainly cause she gets naked for a living.

Lucy Pinder herself of course probably knew this would happen. She went onto Celebrity Big Brother for the cash and the media exposure. Just like every other person appearing on the show. The big brother producers however were hoping for a few ratings boosting scenes of her in a bikini, or with any luck, a few topless shots. They even went as far as to create a segment obviously designed to prompt her to get her stripped off and on show called news in briefs, but she managed to confound them all by wearing a hoodie and some spotty pants that put paid to any ratings boosting titillation that might have gone on.

I think it’s time we just admitted that Big Brother isn’t serious entertainment, or an important social study into the interactions of strangers in a confined space. It’s just the television equivalent of watching a fish tank, except in this fish tank you get to txt-vote off the fish one by one.

Just so that nobody thinks I’ve gone soft on the universe though I would like to say that I think the term glamour model is an unnecessary euphemism in this day and age. I think we should just get over our post-war social inhibitions and start calling them what they are: titty models. That’s right, you heard me, titty models. Don’t get me wrong though I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just wish for once people would start calling things like they see them. These women, for good or ill, make a living out of being good looking and having nice breasts, but from a purely technical standpoint the photography doesn’t make them any more glamorous than a bog standard model. In fact given that the majority of them spend their career appearing in lads’ mags and downmarket tabloids I would go as far as to say they’re hardly glamorous at all.

Orthodox Holidays?

According to the Julian Calendar today is Christmas Day. Unfortunately Scotland is nominally a western christian nation so we use the pesky Gregorian Calendar instead. Shame I could have done with another couple of days off.

Anyway – Happy orthodox Christmas to you all.

Fat Fighting F*ckwits

Well the first full working week of the New Year is underway and the annual weight loss resolutions are being made. I’ve already forcibly had to remove myself from the canteen and several other public areas at The Work to avoid the local population’s discussion of their fat fighting plans.

So far I’ve seen one five foot  nothing fatty restricting herself to a thousand calories per day, and those consist mainly tuna by the looks of it. Several other dieters have decided to try the latest fad diets which range from the cookie diet to simply attempting to not eat at all. None of their ideas are physically, or more importantly, psychologically sustainable in the long term and I’m already taking bets as to which one of them will be the first down to the snack machine next Monday.

Naturally not one of them has chosen to moderate their alcohol intake, increase their physical activity or do anything that actually might actually have any real effect. Six of them have joined, or rejoined, a gym and several have signed up for all sorts of low impact aerobic classes. Not one of them has considered parking their cars at the far end of the car park though because that’s too far for them to walk.

Every time I hear them chattering on about diets and magic pills I want to grab them, give them a shake and say, “Look it’s not rocket science, just take in less calories than you use in your day to day existence and you’ll lose weight without damaging yourself.”

An Attractive Property Indeed

I’ve spent the last couple of hours grinding my way though S1homes.com and the GSPC website in search of houses I could afford to buy. Unfortunately the housing market remains demoralising impenetrable; well unless I’m willing to live in the middle of a Beirut-esque backstreet in Ibrox, Govanhill or Possilpark that is.

After spotting a few fairly nice flats that were outside my price range I finally gave up on the idea and started to take a look at flats up for rent instead. Even in the rental market you don’t get much for nothing now. I had to set my sights as high as £500 per month just to get away from the dubious delights of a flat in Sandbank Crescent.

While trawling through the hundred or so entries for flats in and around the West End I noticed this little gem of a typo in one listing:

I’m fairly sure that the addition of a kitchen and loving area is perfect for a dreich west end student hovel, but most normal folk would prefer a living room.

PS – I notice is comes with a storeage cupboard or two as well.  You would think that with the rent they’re charging on some of their other properties they could afford a decent spellchecker.

INT. A HOOSE – NIGHT

El Kat and I were having a discussion about a stammash that’s brewing over an engagement ring in her old stamping grounds. I’ve always been of the opinion that marriage, and engagement to an extent, are a fairly solemn commitment and shouldn’t be undertaken lightly by anyone.

This ideal isn’t subscribed to by everyone though: especially with regards to engagement. The average nedette in Glasgow at this very moment has probably been engaged to her spotty faced drug dealing fiancé since the age of twelve. Their engagement will probably go on for fifteen or twenty years without ever going anywhere near a Kirk or a registry office.

Many people believe this is for purely practical reasons: Single mothers on the social get a lot more money than a struggling couple but I believe it’s got a lot more to do with the manner in which the engagement begins.

Let us travel now through the looking glass to a typical New Year’s Day scene:

INT. A HOOSE - NIGHT
HIM and HER have been drinking or at a party and are "aff their tits" on the BUCKFAST

HIM
How about a gobble here?

HER
Do you love me?

HIM
Er?

HER
Do you love me ah said?!

HIM
Aye of course!

HER
Say it then!

HIM
Can ah hae a gobble first?

HER
You don't love me do you?


HER starts to GREET and throw random stuff at HIM who becomes confused.

HIM attempts to console HER

HER (CONT'D)
Leave me alain!

HIM
But ah dae love you

HER stops greeting and perks up at the news. HIM unzips his fly.

HER
No ye don't you're just saying that!

HIM
Ah dae!

HER
Prove it then!


HIM tries to get down on bended knee, but is so drunk he falls over and lands on the flair.

HIM picks himself up

HIM
HER will you marry me hen?

HER
Really?

HIM
Why no

HER
Alright then

HIM puts one of his GOLD SOVEREIGN RINGS on HER's finger

HIM
Now about that gobble...?

Down At The Coal Face

I’ve hit a bit of an impasse with my script about the two Glasgow lads that find the spaceship. I’ve got a few ideas on the boil, but at least two of them might involve a rethink of the whole first act. I don’t want to go down that route as I think it was bubbling along quite nicely so I’ve decided to take a break and work on something else just now.

Here’s the first bit of that something else.

EXT. GANTRY - DAY
A heavy maintenance catwalk that runs underneath a thick glass ceiling made up of thousands of large individual glass panels. Two TECHNICIANS in hazmat suits make their way along the catwalk carrying a crate of equipment.

The technicians open the crate of equipment and take out a gun shaped scanner each. They move along the catwalk scanning the frames and glass of each individual pane above the catwalk.

One of the technician's looks up and sees a small metal tripod with a cylindrical device on top is sitting above them on the outside of the glass.

The uppermost end of the cylindrical device starts to glow.

The cylindrical device explodes driving a long metal spike deep into the glass. Cracks spread through the glass and then it implodes showering the technicians with shards of broken glass.

Several ropes drop down from the broken panel and a group of Alliance soldiers rappel down onto the gantry. The soldiers are dressed in uniforms made up of the mixed and ragged remains of clothing from dozens of different armies. Their weapons and equipment are even more irregular. Everything from WWII era guns to scraps of futuristic body armour.

The technicians turn to run, but their escape is blocked by a second group of soldiers advancing along the gantry towards them. The second group are dressed in futuristic black body armour that is completely sealed against the environment.
The soldiers in the black armour open fire along the gantry gunning down the technicians.

One of the technicians staggers back, mortally wounded, and falls over the safety rail. He plunges straight down into the heart of a futuristic walled metropolis.

There’s no dialogue in there yet, and I’m not even sure if the scene really needs dialogue at the moment. It’s really just the prelude to the opening of the story: a catalyst for the events to come.

Happy New Year

Happy new year to everyone out there in internet land!

2009 – The year before the Year We Make Contact…