Only one book in the post today - Jean Mitchell's Storm and Dissonance: L. M. Montgomery and Conflict, bringing my spend on Anne of Green Gables books to £200+. Oh dear.
Luckily, my friend and colleague Sarah has looted the 'university shop' (a marketing thing in the local shopping centre) of all the good second hand books it has on sale. She's presented me with a tour of 1980s Conservatism called Thatcher's Britain: A Guide to the Ruins which seems remarkably current, leafing through their current manifesto, and a beautiful Penguin Special, Daniel and Gabriel Cohn-Bendit's Trotskyist Obsolete Communism: The Left-Wing Alternative (1968). Daniel Cohn-Bendit's still around, as a Green MEP.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Terror! On the front pages
If anyone reads the Daily Star other than David Cameron (who claimed it was his favourite), you'd be forgiven for assuming that a plane had gone down today, wrecked by volcanic ash.
You'd only have to turn several pages and read a long way into the accompanying article to work out that the pictures are a reconstruction for a cash-in documentary on a low-rent TV station, of what might have happened when a BA flight flew through an ash cloud…28 years ago. There were no injuries.
Strangely, copies of the Star were removed from airports today. As were some Star 'journalists'.
Meanwhile, the world gets slightly better, death by death. Juan Antonio Samaranch died today, joining his old friend General Franco in hell if there's any justice (which there clearly isn't, given that Samaranch parleyed his association with fascism into a long and corrupt career with the Olympic movement).
Sport seems to attract reactionaries, even fascists: Samaranch's predecessor, Avery Brundage, was an enthusiastic American supporter of the Nazis, though at least he didn't spend his career as a diplomat for an actual fascist regime. He dumped Jewish American athletes from the American team for the 1936 Berlin Olympics (best games ever, in his opinion) and allowed the Nazi salute - later expelling Smith and Carlos for their Black Power salute in 1968, and tried to have women banned from the Olympics.
My sport - fencing - spent the 1930s glorifying fascism, nowhere more than in Britain, where Oswald Mosley fenced for Britain in between leading the British Union of Fascists. The Black Shirt itself was based on the fencing jacket of the period. A research project into his sporting activities will happen at some point, but anecdotally, there's no sign that his views were anything other than enthusiastically endorsed by the sports governors. Other political fencers: Churchill, Himmler, Heydrich, Franco and, thankfully for me, Karl Marx. Aviators and mountaineers were also prone to fascism - it's all that stuff about being above and beyond the masses.
You'd only have to turn several pages and read a long way into the accompanying article to work out that the pictures are a reconstruction for a cash-in documentary on a low-rent TV station, of what might have happened when a BA flight flew through an ash cloud…28 years ago. There were no injuries.
Strangely, copies of the Star were removed from airports today. As were some Star 'journalists'.
Meanwhile, the world gets slightly better, death by death. Juan Antonio Samaranch died today, joining his old friend General Franco in hell if there's any justice (which there clearly isn't, given that Samaranch parleyed his association with fascism into a long and corrupt career with the Olympic movement).
Sport seems to attract reactionaries, even fascists: Samaranch's predecessor, Avery Brundage, was an enthusiastic American supporter of the Nazis, though at least he didn't spend his career as a diplomat for an actual fascist regime. He dumped Jewish American athletes from the American team for the 1936 Berlin Olympics (best games ever, in his opinion) and allowed the Nazi salute - later expelling Smith and Carlos for their Black Power salute in 1968, and tried to have women banned from the Olympics.
My sport - fencing - spent the 1930s glorifying fascism, nowhere more than in Britain, where Oswald Mosley fenced for Britain in between leading the British Union of Fascists. The Black Shirt itself was based on the fencing jacket of the period. A research project into his sporting activities will happen at some point, but anecdotally, there's no sign that his views were anything other than enthusiastically endorsed by the sports governors. Other political fencers: Churchill, Himmler, Heydrich, Franco and, thankfully for me, Karl Marx. Aviators and mountaineers were also prone to fascism - it's all that stuff about being above and beyond the masses.
Book news
I read a glorious, pointless book yesterday. It's Bad Vibes, by Luke Haines - his account/autobiography of the Britpop years. Haines was the misanthropic egotist behind The Auteurs, Baader-Meinhof and Black Box Recorder, as well as recording under his own name. In thrall to The Go-Betweens and Nick Cave, but adding his own splenetic misery, Haines uses the book to attack, well, everybody, while declining false modesty. Everyone else was shit, and he's a genius. According to him.
A whole book of this would be unbearable, were it not for one thing: Haines is right. He is a genius and most other bands were rubbish compared with him. Unfortunately for our hero, the corporate world of music isn't really set up for misanthropic musical critiques. It likes singles and populist albums. And thus the stage is set for artistic ascension, critical approval and commercial failure. Which is a problem because, as Haines unflinchingly records, he likes fame, attention, money and drugs. All of which come to those who play the game - and he can't do it. The book's brilliant because Haines doesn't spare himself from unflinching criticism and scorn for his arrogance, petulance and narcissism, while dishing it out to everybody else too.
A whole book of this would be unbearable, were it not for one thing: Haines is right. He is a genius and most other bands were rubbish compared with him. Unfortunately for our hero, the corporate world of music isn't really set up for misanthropic musical critiques. It likes singles and populist albums. And thus the stage is set for artistic ascension, critical approval and commercial failure. Which is a problem because, as Haines unflinchingly records, he likes fame, attention, money and drugs. All of which come to those who play the game - and he can't do it. The book's brilliant because Haines doesn't spare himself from unflinching criticism and scorn for his arrogance, petulance and narcissism, while dishing it out to everybody else too.
Is that the acetate test pressing?
Last Saturday was Independent Record Shop day, on which we were meant to give our money to small capitalists rather than big ones.
Actually, the independent record shop is my natural habitat. Weeks of my life have been spent leafing through racks of dusty records by bands who reached No. 78 on the Indie charts with a split single on Fierce Panda or some such label. It's difficult to point to the indiest record in my collection, though Spare Snare's acoustic, Scottish cover of 'Say My Name', Teen Anthems' 'Welsh Bands Suck' and The Period Pains' 'We Hate The Spice Girls' all spring to mind.
Going to an indie store is a special experience though - far better than the fake mateyness of HMV and the like. The checkout monkey recently addressed me thus 'Find everything you needed, buddy?' and added 'buddy' to every subsequent sentence. I didn't 'need' anything I'd bought, I couldn't find what I actually wanted, and we'd never met previously. Buddy, indeed.
No, go to a proper record shop and there's no false bonhomie. It's like an assault course - difficult, often humiliating, but ultimately good for you. I spent a good chunk of my life at Cob Records in Bangor: seeing one of their yellow plastic bags is my madeleine.
Cob was especially difficult for non-locals because as well as convincing the staff you were worthy to buy one of their records, you had to either speak Welsh or look apologetic for not being able to do so - learning a few phrases was essential (and a pleasure, I should add). Similarly, occasionally purchasing 7" singles by the staff's bands helped (this was the high point of Welsh indie - most of them produced, played on or supported Gorky's/Super Furries/David Wrench/Ectogram (with whom I'm still friends)/Melys/Serpents etc) and learning their children's names made it more likely that you'd leave the shop with only a few mocking comments about your taste in music. Buying music on the 'wrong' label was enough to attract opprobrium. OK, they would imply, you're feeding our kids, but don't expect gratitude if you think that Creation is socially acceptable. I got away with it, I think: my first two purchases (made blindly) were Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's Patio on 10" and Tindersticks' Kathleen, also on 10" - credible enough to serve as an entrée.
I ran this gauntlet several times a week. I'd go in on Friday and go through the list of next week's releases, having perused NME on Wednesday. Then I'd return on Monday to pick up the loot. Usually, this would be a couple of plastic bags full of vinyl (I didn't have a CD player until 1998), sometimes more. Added to my order, the men (yes, all men) would have added 'stuff we thought you'd like/should listen to', which usually consisted of their own releases, or any old crap ordered in error and lingering in dark corners. I would, intimidated and pleased by their kindness, gratefully take whatever they recommended. The bags would be hauled over the counter (which was festooned by stickers and posters for bands which lasted, on average, for one gig or a single mention by sainted John Peel) and the pattern would repeat itself every week. I'd also call in at random times just in case interesting second-hand stuff had come in - leading to my large collection of Ankst's back catalogue and a big pile of Datblygu records.
Leaving North Wales was a huge wrench for many reasons, but Cob was a part of this. My current location had an OK shop which closed within weeks of my arrival. Birmingham had a couple of good shops, but they're closing. Trips to Manchester are always fruitful, but I'm no longer so tribal. After having to sell 400 7" singles one summer to stay in my house and eat, something was lost. Internet shopping isn't the same. The very best indie outlets on the web are Action Records and Norman's Records (huge range, friendly people, authentic indie snobbiness) but the social aspects are lost: the smells, the cameraderie of slipping a record out of its sleeve to spin it under the light or work out which pressing it was before loudly declaring it inauthentic, the quiet nods of recognition when fellow victims are spotted, the shameful pleasure of purchasing a records despite the shop owner loudly announcing that 'this is shit, mate' and pressing a load of other things on you - you can't get this on the web.
Go to your local shop. If you don't, their employees will roam the streets. Record shops are Care in the Community for nerds. Download anything on a major label - buy the rest in your local shop.
Actually, the independent record shop is my natural habitat. Weeks of my life have been spent leafing through racks of dusty records by bands who reached No. 78 on the Indie charts with a split single on Fierce Panda or some such label. It's difficult to point to the indiest record in my collection, though Spare Snare's acoustic, Scottish cover of 'Say My Name', Teen Anthems' 'Welsh Bands Suck' and The Period Pains' 'We Hate The Spice Girls' all spring to mind.
Going to an indie store is a special experience though - far better than the fake mateyness of HMV and the like. The checkout monkey recently addressed me thus 'Find everything you needed, buddy?' and added 'buddy' to every subsequent sentence. I didn't 'need' anything I'd bought, I couldn't find what I actually wanted, and we'd never met previously. Buddy, indeed.
No, go to a proper record shop and there's no false bonhomie. It's like an assault course - difficult, often humiliating, but ultimately good for you. I spent a good chunk of my life at Cob Records in Bangor: seeing one of their yellow plastic bags is my madeleine.
Cob was especially difficult for non-locals because as well as convincing the staff you were worthy to buy one of their records, you had to either speak Welsh or look apologetic for not being able to do so - learning a few phrases was essential (and a pleasure, I should add). Similarly, occasionally purchasing 7" singles by the staff's bands helped (this was the high point of Welsh indie - most of them produced, played on or supported Gorky's/Super Furries/David Wrench/Ectogram (with whom I'm still friends)/Melys/Serpents etc) and learning their children's names made it more likely that you'd leave the shop with only a few mocking comments about your taste in music. Buying music on the 'wrong' label was enough to attract opprobrium. OK, they would imply, you're feeding our kids, but don't expect gratitude if you think that Creation is socially acceptable. I got away with it, I think: my first two purchases (made blindly) were Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's Patio on 10" and Tindersticks' Kathleen, also on 10" - credible enough to serve as an entrée.
I ran this gauntlet several times a week. I'd go in on Friday and go through the list of next week's releases, having perused NME on Wednesday. Then I'd return on Monday to pick up the loot. Usually, this would be a couple of plastic bags full of vinyl (I didn't have a CD player until 1998), sometimes more. Added to my order, the men (yes, all men) would have added 'stuff we thought you'd like/should listen to', which usually consisted of their own releases, or any old crap ordered in error and lingering in dark corners. I would, intimidated and pleased by their kindness, gratefully take whatever they recommended. The bags would be hauled over the counter (which was festooned by stickers and posters for bands which lasted, on average, for one gig or a single mention by sainted John Peel) and the pattern would repeat itself every week. I'd also call in at random times just in case interesting second-hand stuff had come in - leading to my large collection of Ankst's back catalogue and a big pile of Datblygu records.
Leaving North Wales was a huge wrench for many reasons, but Cob was a part of this. My current location had an OK shop which closed within weeks of my arrival. Birmingham had a couple of good shops, but they're closing. Trips to Manchester are always fruitful, but I'm no longer so tribal. After having to sell 400 7" singles one summer to stay in my house and eat, something was lost. Internet shopping isn't the same. The very best indie outlets on the web are Action Records and Norman's Records (huge range, friendly people, authentic indie snobbiness) but the social aspects are lost: the smells, the cameraderie of slipping a record out of its sleeve to spin it under the light or work out which pressing it was before loudly declaring it inauthentic, the quiet nods of recognition when fellow victims are spotted, the shameful pleasure of purchasing a records despite the shop owner loudly announcing that 'this is shit, mate' and pressing a load of other things on you - you can't get this on the web.
Go to your local shop. If you don't, their employees will roam the streets. Record shops are Care in the Community for nerds. Download anything on a major label - buy the rest in your local shop.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Sun readers don't care, as long as…
During an election period, it's important to remember the delicate relationship between government and the supposedly proud and independent British Press. Despite being filmed in the early 80s, this is still true in every particular.
All hail Phantom Gorilla
While I think about it, I want to plug Phantom Gorilla's BBC Radio Widget. If you own a Mac, it's a dashboard mini-application which gives you a ridiculously simple way to access every BBC radio station. And it's free (though you can, and should, send him the price of a couple of pints).
Get it here.
Get it here.
Album of the Day: Balloon
I don't know much about Balloon, and their album Gravity: they're pretty much invisible and forgotten, which is a shame. Cynical Ben gave it to me in one of his purges - he's pretty ruthless about it. In this case, he made the right call, because it suits my shoegazing/lo-fi tastes very well. There's a bit of punk and soul in there - certainly distinctive. Shame that's all they did.
Down the rabbit hole
Adam sent me this: a taste of what new media can do to literature. This almost makes an iPad worth buying…
Monday, 19 April 2010
Book news
4 books today: Ariel Levy's Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture (about why women are now claiming that pole-dancing, porn, FHM etc. are 'empowering'), Natasha Walter's feminism-lite Living Dolls: The Return of Sexism, Shannon Stewart's poems about the Pickton serial killer (he definitely killed 26 women, probably 50), Penny Dreadful and Slanderous Tongues: Essays on Welsh Poetry in English 1970-2005, a very elegant volume.
Your face may be taken down in evidence
Labour has been the worst government in living memory for civil rights - and I say that as a party member. Their trick is to trumpet their identity politics triumphs (e.g. repealing homophobic laws) while hoping you don't notice that freedom of speech, freedom of assembly and the right to protest have largely been withdrawn, often through unchallengeable administrative methods. (The Lib Dems are far and away the best party for civil liberties).
There are 3000 more criminal offences since 1997. The police behave as though they have the right to know everything about you, in every situation - as photographers have found out - to 'prevent terrorism', despite none of these laws being necessary when the IRA was conducting a serious campaign.
As an example:
There are 3000 more criminal offences since 1997. The police behave as though they have the right to know everything about you, in every situation - as photographers have found out - to 'prevent terrorism', despite none of these laws being necessary when the IRA was conducting a serious campaign.
As an example:
Police have paid compensation and apologised to the comedian and activist Mark Thomas after they admitted unlawfully searching him for looking "over-confident" at a demonstration. A police officer recorded on an official form that Thomas may have been carrying weapons as he had an "over-confident attitude". Nothing was found.
In January the European court of human rights ruled it was unlawful for police to use arbitrary stop-and-search powers against peace protesters and photographers under terrorism legislation. Kent police admitted conducting unlawful searches on 11-year-old twins and other activists at an environmental demonstration.
Byzantine rhythms
Today's music is a collection of Byzantine hymns and music from Vespers, the evening prayers, by the Balamand Monastery. Yes, I'm an atheist, and I don't speak any of the languages used in the Orthodox rites. So for me, this music is all about sound and atmosphere. Music is far more important in Orthodox churches - they'd never countenance the weedy, tuneless crap which oozes out of most church choirs over here: you can hardly hear a tune over the wheezing and backstabbing of the average church choir.
No: this stuff is the business. And it drowns out my neighbour's Sky Sports obsession (how many times can you listen to the news that a non-league goalkeeper has turned his ankle?). And as it's in Arabic (1st one), Greek (2nd one), and Russian (3) you don't get annoyed at the contentious theological content.
No: this stuff is the business. And it drowns out my neighbour's Sky Sports obsession (how many times can you listen to the news that a non-league goalkeeper has turned his ankle?). And as it's in Arabic (1st one), Greek (2nd one), and Russian (3) you don't get annoyed at the contentious theological content.
Last week I met a half-man half-dog who told me we should send them home
David Cameron's leadership debate depended on 'anecdotes' which turned out to be untrue (such as the 40-year old man who'd been in the Navy for 30 years, the £73,000 police car which turned out to cost £50,000, and the '400 policemen doing admin which turned out to be 400 police teachers).
Some wag has constructed a brilliant automatic anecdote generator. See it in all its sarcastic glory here.
I particularly liked:
Some wag has constructed a brilliant automatic anecdote generator. See it in all its sarcastic glory here.
I particularly liked:
"Last week, I met a wheelchair-bound cabin boy, who told me that trendy teachers got a free house from the council."Why we need PR: this poll puts the Lib Dems second - but they'd end up with 175 seats fewer than Labour, who are third, because the Lib Dem vote is split between so many constituencies, whereas the other parties votes are concentrated in winnable seats.
Nerd news
Did you all watch Doctor Who on Saturday? I was stunned: the new direction is scary but full of comic turns: it is, after all, for kids. WW2 British Army Daleks menacingly asking 'Would. You. Care. For. A. Cup. Of. Tea?' and cameos from all sorts of quality classically-trained actors. The new assistant is dreamy and the new Doctor is settling in brilliantly. Next week's episode looks amazing - the Blink angels and River Song are back, back, BACK.
If you can't access the BBC iplayer outside the UK, you might be interested in this helpful page.
Perhaps it's the high point of British TV at the moment. It can't seem to do serious drama at the moment - I miss GBH, Boys From the Blackstuff, State of Play to name just a few: the US does those now (e.g. The Wire), but the BBC in particular is brilliant at sheer entertainment. Shame the Tories want to give it to Murdoch.
If you can't access the BBC iplayer outside the UK, you might be interested in this helpful page.
Perhaps it's the high point of British TV at the moment. It can't seem to do serious drama at the moment - I miss GBH, Boys From the Blackstuff, State of Play to name just a few: the US does those now (e.g. The Wire), but the BBC in particular is brilliant at sheer entertainment. Shame the Tories want to give it to Murdoch.
"We're All In It Together"
…is the campaign slogan of David Cameron (Eton, Oxford, Bullingdon, £30m fortune, expenses cheat) and Gideon George Osborne (St. Paul's, Oxford, Bullingdon, due to become the 18th Baronet of Ballentaylor, expenses cheat, charged the taxpayer for 2 copies of his own speeches on DVD, personal fortune of £5m - inherited, with potentially £500m to come.
How 'all in it together' are we? The Independent summarises the Tories' major tax commitments thus:
How 'all in it together' are we? The Independent summarises the Tories' major tax commitments thus:
"Here are the facts. David Cameron will give a £1.2bn inheritance tax cut to the richest 2 per cent in Britain with most going to the 3,000 wealthiest estates (including his wife's).
Then he promises to end the 50p top rate of tax, giving another £2.4bn to the richest 1 per cent.
Then he has pledged to cut taxes on the pensions of the richest, handing another £3.2bn to the same 1 per cent.
Then his marriage tax relief policies will give 13 times more to the rich than the poor. To pay for this, he will slash programmes for the middle and the skint"
Losing the election, vote by vote
I missed one of the political highlights of the year: David Cameron visiting my local Asda store (he only visits businesses which have given his party money). The fun I could have had.
However, it seems, according to the Observer that it was a stop on his campaign to lose the election by alienating each voter individually by, er, meeting them:
However, it seems, according to the Observer that it was a stop on his campaign to lose the election by alienating each voter individually by, er, meeting them:
After the Tory bus left Prestatyn in Wales, it headed to an Asda in Wolverhampton. There, Louise Anyon, a 22-year-old trainee manager, asked Cameron about pensions. After he left, she said she had been thinking of voting Tory but was now wobbling. "Nick Clegg was so brilliant," she said, beaming. "I'm very tempted by the Liberal Democrats."
Magnificent Messi?
There's been a lot of talk recently about Lionel Messi recently. Is he the greatest footballer on earth? Despite being called Lionel?
Well, there's no doubt that he can score goals, and that he plays for a great team (one which was on the right side in the Spanish Civil War and ensuing dictatorship, and which opts to promote Unicef rather than some corporation on its shirts) but there's one area of his game which is, as yet, sorely lacking.
Yes, until he can master Delap's long throws (and the stunning volley), he's not the finished article. If he came to Stoke for a season, we'd tutor him, nurture him, turn him into the ultimate footballer.
Well, there's no doubt that he can score goals, and that he plays for a great team (one which was on the right side in the Spanish Civil War and ensuing dictatorship, and which opts to promote Unicef rather than some corporation on its shirts) but there's one area of his game which is, as yet, sorely lacking.
Yes, until he can master Delap's long throws (and the stunning volley), he's not the finished article. If he came to Stoke for a season, we'd tutor him, nurture him, turn him into the ultimate footballer.
Friday, 16 April 2010
The Sky is Falling
Have a good weekend everybody. Try not to inhale too much volcanic ash. I intend to read my extensive collection of cataclysm literature (used to be Commie Nukes, now it's the far more convincing Eco-apocalypse) in preparation for The Rapture.
I've just finished Miller's Sunshine State: a mix of (very deliberately signalled) Ballard and The Bourne Identity - excellent Iraq-derived stuff with a very downbeat ending and I'm starting Robert Edric's Salvage, a post-collapse novel set in the flooded North of England. Looks good so far. I've just finished Davies's weirdo Canadian campus novel Rebel Angels and Aldiss's sex-fixated fictionalised autobiography, The Hand-Reared Boy (how an SF writer called Brian managed to find so much material from his sex life is beyond me). The fun ends next week though - I've got to rewrite my Anne paper for journal publication and do the same for my O. M. Edwards paper for publication as a book chapter. Oh, and teach. And mark.
Stay safe out there.
I've just finished Miller's Sunshine State: a mix of (very deliberately signalled) Ballard and The Bourne Identity - excellent Iraq-derived stuff with a very downbeat ending and I'm starting Robert Edric's Salvage, a post-collapse novel set in the flooded North of England. Looks good so far. I've just finished Davies's weirdo Canadian campus novel Rebel Angels and Aldiss's sex-fixated fictionalised autobiography, The Hand-Reared Boy (how an SF writer called Brian managed to find so much material from his sex life is beyond me). The fun ends next week though - I've got to rewrite my Anne paper for journal publication and do the same for my O. M. Edwards paper for publication as a book chapter. Oh, and teach. And mark.
Stay safe out there.
Sound and fury
Oh look, today's music is Bach. I'll do you a favour and pass over everything this composer wrote in one day's entry (although Douglas Adams claimed that he wrote so much that 'Bach' was a cover for aliens).
I've got choral music, the complete organ works (that's 40CDs alone) and my favourite pieces of music ever, the Cello Suites. Everybody knows the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (check the great animation below), and the Passions have never been unpopular, but the Cello Suites were basically forgotten about until Pablo Casals (a great lefty cellist) happened upon a manuscript in a junk shop. They never fail to inspire me. When I'm happy, they suit my mood. When I'm tired, they lift me, when I'm unhappy, they soothe.
I've got choral music, the complete organ works (that's 40CDs alone) and my favourite pieces of music ever, the Cello Suites. Everybody knows the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (check the great animation below), and the Passions have never been unpopular, but the Cello Suites were basically forgotten about until Pablo Casals (a great lefty cellist) happened upon a manuscript in a junk shop. They never fail to inspire me. When I'm happy, they suit my mood. When I'm tired, they lift me, when I'm unhappy, they soothe.
How journalism works
You write the story, then wait for the events to happen.
As this Guardian story shows, the newspapers' judgement on the leadership debate largely followed those papers' fixed political ideas:
The Sun: Brown lost badly, Clegg was rubbish
The Mirror: Brown won
The Express: 'Brown down and out… Advantage Cameron'
The Guardian: Clegg, otherwise unclear
The Daily Mail: BBC bastards send thousands to follow events, shut it down etc. etc.
As this Guardian story shows, the newspapers' judgement on the leadership debate largely followed those papers' fixed political ideas:
The Sun: Brown lost badly, Clegg was rubbish
The Mirror: Brown won
The Express: 'Brown down and out… Advantage Cameron'
The Guardian: Clegg, otherwise unclear
The Daily Mail: BBC bastards send thousands to follow events, shut it down etc. etc.
Political Gladiators
Morning comrades. Or afternoon. Whatever.
The big debate here, or what would be the big debate had I seen or spoken to anyone so far this morning, is who won the party leaders' face-off last night. It's the first of three, this one being home affairs.
Did anyone watch it? Emma came round and we consumed (and I spilled) wine and pizza, while shouting obscenities at the television. I like to think we're ideal citizens.
Instant polling gave it to the Liberal Democrat leader, Nick Clegg, with Cameron leading Brown by a few points. Not the way I saw it: Brown's been the most unpopular prime minister in decades, presiding over an illegal war and economic collapse. It should have been an open goal for Cameron - and he missed. All three managed to spout their pre-prepared lines, but Brown managed to avoid his usual habit of listing reams of statistics and was even light-hearted now and then. We expect him to be largely dour and solid, and he was.
Cameron seemed to waver between weirdo American small state stuff, even weirder optimism and the most appalling fearmongering, spiced with anecdotes presumably added to make him look 'in touch'. Odd moments really exposed him, such as when he called for more drug rehabilitation, despite promising a smaller state and massive cuts in healthcare: who's going pay for it. Weirder still was his argument that we need bigger nuclear weapons in case of Iran and China: is he planning to declare war? He even edged close to saying 'some of my best friends are black'.He was dicy on state education too; kept mentioning that his kids go to state primary schools. If I were Brown, I'd have asked what his experience of state and mixed education was (Eton, currently £35,000 per year, all-male, all rich). And when he last went hunting.
Brown won't have lost any seats by this debate. Cameron may have. Clegg had it easy - he can range the philosophical prairie because he's not going to be in government. He'll pick up a few seats from this and be happy.
Next week it's the foreign affairs debate - I'd expect Clegg and Brown to score heavily here, given that Cameron's sweetness and light doesn't extend to foreigners.
Worst moments: Brown using 'less' instead of 'fewer', and David Cameron twice bringing up his dead child to prove that he loves the NHS. Brown had a child die too, and didn't sink that low.
Ewarwoowar live blogged the whole thing, wittily and largely accurately.
Update: oh look, Gary Barlow's a Tory (11.50 summary and 11.03). Who loses most credibility from that? Brown's been talking about the economy. Clegg's talking about nuclear weapons. Cameron and Barlow are talking about a national school talent show called 'School Stars'. What a dick, eh, readers?
The big debate here, or what would be the big debate had I seen or spoken to anyone so far this morning, is who won the party leaders' face-off last night. It's the first of three, this one being home affairs.
Did anyone watch it? Emma came round and we consumed (and I spilled) wine and pizza, while shouting obscenities at the television. I like to think we're ideal citizens.
Instant polling gave it to the Liberal Democrat leader, Nick Clegg, with Cameron leading Brown by a few points. Not the way I saw it: Brown's been the most unpopular prime minister in decades, presiding over an illegal war and economic collapse. It should have been an open goal for Cameron - and he missed. All three managed to spout their pre-prepared lines, but Brown managed to avoid his usual habit of listing reams of statistics and was even light-hearted now and then. We expect him to be largely dour and solid, and he was.
Cameron seemed to waver between weirdo American small state stuff, even weirder optimism and the most appalling fearmongering, spiced with anecdotes presumably added to make him look 'in touch'. Odd moments really exposed him, such as when he called for more drug rehabilitation, despite promising a smaller state and massive cuts in healthcare: who's going pay for it. Weirder still was his argument that we need bigger nuclear weapons in case of Iran and China: is he planning to declare war? He even edged close to saying 'some of my best friends are black'.He was dicy on state education too; kept mentioning that his kids go to state primary schools. If I were Brown, I'd have asked what his experience of state and mixed education was (Eton, currently £35,000 per year, all-male, all rich). And when he last went hunting.
Brown won't have lost any seats by this debate. Cameron may have. Clegg had it easy - he can range the philosophical prairie because he's not going to be in government. He'll pick up a few seats from this and be happy.
Next week it's the foreign affairs debate - I'd expect Clegg and Brown to score heavily here, given that Cameron's sweetness and light doesn't extend to foreigners.
Worst moments: Brown using 'less' instead of 'fewer', and David Cameron twice bringing up his dead child to prove that he loves the NHS. Brown had a child die too, and didn't sink that low.
Ewarwoowar live blogged the whole thing, wittily and largely accurately.
Update: oh look, Gary Barlow's a Tory (11.50 summary and 11.03). Who loses most credibility from that? Brown's been talking about the economy. Clegg's talking about nuclear weapons. Cameron and Barlow are talking about a national school talent show called 'School Stars'. What a dick, eh, readers?
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