Victory is Mine!

So I'm sure you're all lolly-gagging to know how I got on this morning, representing a colleague in a Stage 3 Final Written Warning disciplinary hearing.

Well, things didn't start well when I fell over very painfully on the wet slate entrance floor. Dignity: begone! Suit: not looking its best. Still, it could have been worse: one of the rooming administrators fell down the stairs while we were waiting for the verdict and ended up with a horribly gashed leg. Thankfully several nurse tutors were on hand to provide first aid. The victim turned out to be someone I exchange emails with frequently so although the circumstances were painful and unpleasant, it was nice to meet her. Not everyone I meet has to go home in an ambulance though, unless with split sides after paying attention to my jokes.

The hearing itself was of course uncomfortable. My client was being investigated/prosecuted by his associate dean, so making idle chit chat before the event was a bit uncomfortable. Inside the hearing the mood wavered between interrogatory and kind. They read a formal set of allegations, we challenged a lot of them and introduced information we thought they'd overlooked or ignored. I contributed by saying as little as possible, which is probably for the best.

The result was very surprising, and very fair. Instead of a final written warning which would lead to dismissal if anything else happened over the next two years, a 'stage one' written warning lasting six months was issued. My client was a model good citizen throughout a stressful event and everything ended well.

I celebrated by going to M+S to buy cheese between other meetings. And now I'm off for Christmas drinks and Thai food with the English department. We've had a two hour meeting to moan about things, so it's all sweetness and light for the rest of the evening. See you on Monday!

I was going to leave you with the Go-Betweens' 'Rare Victory'. But it's not on Youtube. So instead you can have Felt's lovely 'There's No Such Thing As Victory':



and Faith No More's less cute 'Small Victory':

A public service announcement on behalf of Lawrence from Felt

There's been chatter on Plashing Vole recently on the subject of whether 80s Brummie indie-popsters Felt are, or are not, any cop.

I feel that this track, 'Hours of Darkness Have Changed My Mind', settles the argument. It's upbeat, poppy, catchy, and sounds uncannily like The G0-Betweens if that band had consumed happy pills by the bucketload. It's from the astonishingly excellent album Forever Breathes The Lonely Word.



And as I'm in a generous mood, here's 'Primitive Painters', the track Felt recorded with Liz Fraser on keening duties: she of Cocteau Twins fame.

Birmingham's very wettest band?

This is Felt. They were very sensitive boys. I like them. They're gone now (though one did go on to found Denim, a group which heavily influenced David Wrench's sublime second album.

In the fucking loop

I spent yesterday afternoon swearing, with admittedly more perspiration than inspiration. so perhaps yesterday evening wasn't the best time to see In The Loop, the big-screen extension of The Thick of It, Armando Ianucci's cynical, brilliant examination of the way politics has been reduced from principles to venal positioning. It is without doubt the sweariest film since South Park. It is superior to the latter, however, thanks to its relentlessly innovative swearing. This is a family blog, so I won't quote any of the horrifyingly memorable phrases, but urge anyone who thinks that swearing is neither big nor clever to see this film. It will convert you. I certainly found it difficult to shake the habit after yesterday. Steve Coogan's cameo is also brilliant.

This clip is extremely unpleasant so don't play it if you're sensitive to finely-crafted Anglo-Saxon.

After the film we went to the Dilshad restaurant in Wolverhampton. We chose it because it has hundreds of photos of formerly popular entertainers who'd eaten their after performing at the nearby Grand Theatre. My favourite photograph is of Jonathan King (celebrity unrepentant paedophile), Gary Bushell (unrepentant, untalented, unpleasant far-right 'journalist') enjoying the company of a rather young boy. Perhaps they'd ordered the chicken…

I'd intended to take a picture of this historic summit for your delectation, so imagine my horror to find that the venue had undergone a tasteful, minimalist, stylish makeover. Yes, the food was stunningly good, but something special has been lost.

To console ourselves, we subsequently attended the Posada and then the near-deserted Little Civic. I love that place when it's empty. The DJ is open to requests and has a highly-developed love of pre-Britpop Real Indie which I share. Without the check-shirt-and-shaven-head brigade in evidence, I (and occasionally one or two of my friends) could dance like thirty-something losers without the usual mockery and contempt. For the first time ever, I heard Stereolab in a public place, and this DJ hero played Felt, Field Mice and the Go-Betweens without even being asked. Some good Breeders and Jane's Addiction were introduced to the mix as well. 'Props' to this unsung hero, as I believe some people say in these situations.