Monday, 21 September 2009

Ben Goldacre - secular saint

Ben Goldacre, as those of you who read Bad Science know, is a genius and he's on our side.

He's feeling a little grumpy, this time about politics. Now I'm a little more optimistic: British politics is a mess of petty-minded careerists, but there are selfless types out there. Ben puts his case better than I could, however:

I view politics as a tedious and impenetrable world of soul-destroying compromise populated by individuals too ambitious to speak clearly on issues of any importance, while generally defending the interests of the new wealthy friends they make while in power.

It's been a long, weird trip…

I'm now exhausted - written several lectures (another one to write tonight), attended a stressful departmental meeting, gone to some introductory lectures and went for a swim. For a peaceful moment, I have to retreat to the loo - currently with Stephen Greenblatt's Learning to Curse, which I really should have read years ago.

I also got my Shazam t-shirt, in honour of the mighty Spaced.

Speak, or forever hold your peace

Did you (do you) speak in seminars? I didn't, out of nerves and feeling stupid. I now realise that when my students are silent as statues it's a mark of respect. Shakespeare leads the way, as so often.

Paulina:
I like your silence; it the more shows off
your wonder. But yet speak…

(The Winter's Tale, 5.3.31-32).

Zoot Horn offers this, from Romeo and Juliet:

Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.


(There's no pun in this post title, hopefully, as it's from the wedding service of the Book of Common Prayer).

One more wafer? No. I'm f*&@ing stuffed



I spent Friday night with my brother, his wife and his in-laws near Abergavenny, and Saturday at the Food Festival there, with all the other Guardian readers, second-home owners, Carluccio and Matthew Fort (Matthew: the jersey tied loosely over your shoulders is a terrible affectation. Stop it). It was wonderful. That area of Wales is stunningly beautiful, and I heartily recommend the train journey along the border from Aber to Shrewsbury. My hosts stuffed me with Welsh cakes, I had a room of which, on a clear day, the far end could be glimpsed, and a mountain view. Most satisfyingly, I took £5 from the master of the house, having wagered that Leinster would beat his beloved Ospreys… ho ho ho. Quite impressively, he phoned up the two former rugby stars interviewed during the game to share his views on Ospreys' shortcomings!

And thence to town for the festival. What could one say? I bought venison, boudin noir, toulouse sausages, fine Welsh ales, aromatic cheeses, laverbread (not bread but tangy seaweed) and a beautiful Welsh blanket. We tasted ciders, perries, sausages, cheeses, Welsh whisky liqueur and much, much more.

Abergavenny is a stunningly beautiful town, with a classic ruined castle, three mountains (Skirrid Fawr, the Blorenge and the Sugar Loaf) towering over it, and a range of independent shops - walking weekends beckon. Now I'm off to pay for my gluttony with a swim. Ugh

(Pictures not by me - this idiot forgot his camera)


Let the onslaught begin

Morning comrades! And welcome to a horrendous week: teaching begins today, and I'm covering for two distinguished colleagues who are off to sunny Bucharest for a conference. The first week is always manic: people don't know where they should be, which course they're on, and why they're here at all. Introductory lectures are a mix of erudition, reassurance and, of course, chilled-out entertainment: not easy for someone with all the comic timing and organisation of a whelk on smack.

Added to this - I'm moving house on Saturday. I've filled 16 boxes with unread books, and 7 with A-Burgess in the 'read' books, so I'm really struggling. Must find more boxes, pack, pay massive amount of money to agent, hire a van, change address, buy bookcases (many thereof) and teach this week…

Friday, 18 September 2009

You've got Mail

If you read Metro or one of the other rightwing papers (which ones aren't, these days?), all you'll have seen about the upcoming potential postal strike is that posties are lazy bastards who constantly skive and con their managers.

Anita the Lurker has kindly sent me this article from the London Review of Books (very good - subscribe today) which explains in some detail how the Mail is being made to look inefficient and obsolete, and how managerial culture is destroying this iconic lifeline. Funnily enough, posties are being treated in the same way we academics are - as blockages to some imaginary 'income stream' or 'repositioning' or whatever buzzword's current.

This is not a reusable learning object

I've just been to my union's negotiating committee (and landed yet another job…). We're facing bad practice, management incompetence and a refusal to accept responsibility. Instead, 250 jobs are being cut, courses are being culled, modules withdrawn and class sizes increasing.

Thankfully, the proles are stirring. We're going to campaign hard, and campaign cleverly. It's an obvious case. Just like the banking crisis has led to public services suffering to pay for saving capitalism (Naomi Klein predicted all this in The Shock Doctrine, which Cameron et al. seem to have taken as a user's guide to economics), the university is going to punish the workers for its own failures and we're not going to take it. Redundancy will overload those who stay, it will lead to even bigger classes, more marking, less contact time for students, less time for the intellectual exchanges that constitute education (management think it's all about marks) and ultimately, less enlightenment. How will I be able to argue the toss with a student on the interpretation of a line of poetry, or the implications for the public sphere of BBC cuts, for instance, if there are 45 other people in seminar group all wanting their say? How will I learn names, find time to chat, sort out problems, plan classes, do research and get to know individual students?

I know that these concerns are embarrassingly old-fashioned, non-customer-oriented, not business-focussed, but they are the kind of things about which real teachers actually give a damn. We're not automatons delivering packaged material - that's not education. Having meaningful relationships with individual, contrary, contradictory, demanding students constitutes real education and folks, it's messy, untidy, expensive, sometimes not measurable and brilliant. Grab it while it lasts… the suits and their anti-pedagogical pets are on the warpath.

(Reusable learning objects are apparently things like online presentations, much beloved of our employers because then they can divorce teaching from the scruffy contrarians who actually know about stuff. Y'know, experts. Instead, some poor kid can be paid minimum wage to turn on the projector and leave the students to it, or students can sit at home and be fooled into thinking that education is just memorising bullet points).

Friday conundrum!

Not so much a conundrum, and perhaps a little morbid: write your own epitaph or obituary! For what would you like to be remembered? Boltzmann's grave features his Constant, which is pretty cool. Shakespeare's warns people not to chuck his bones into the charnel house next door. I saw a Welsh one which read (translated) as 'not to be opened without the permission of the inhabitant'.

Mine?
Plashing Vole - turned his final page.
Too flippant? I'd like to be thought of as quiet, consistent, helpful and kind - not that I am, it's just that's what I'd like people to think. I care about books, people, education, the environment, politics and the public sphere - though I'm ashamed to say that I don't do much about them. I'd like to get my book written, and some papers, but fame doesn't concern me one little bit. Maybe it's a bit negative, but the first line of the Hippocratic Oath commends itself to me: 'First, do no harm'. We can be such destructive creatures, emotionally, physically, intellectually, that a conscious decision to refrain from harm is essential.

I'd also like to be remembered for my agility with a pun. Speaking of which, I'm thinking of opening a strip-joint featuring characters from literature. The star turn will be Jane Eyre in a G-String. Boom-tish.

Thankyewverymuch. Bookings for weddings and barmitzvahs have not been rolling in.

Carriage crazy

I'm still captivated by the ads in this 1858 edition of The Times. In many ways, we haven't changed much - just as there's a cool car culture now (hopefully dying), there was a cool carriage culture, with varieties such as the Clarence, Phaeton, Sociable, Landau, Brougham and Barouche. Some of the existing lines (one lady owner) are clearly older than I thought:

CLARENCE to be DISPOSED OF, the property of a lady, who from ill-health is incapable of using it again. It will consequently be sold a bargain. May be seen at 71, Great Queen-street, Lincoln's-inn fields.

SOCIABLE, 75 Guineas ; Brougham, 75 Guineas. To prevent trouble and loss of time, particulars are given. Sociable–head removes. Brougham–circular front. Cost £140 each. Elegant and scarcely soiled. A lady breaking up her establishment. 29, Davies-street, Berkeley-square.

UNDER the PATRONAGE of Her Most Gracious MAJESTY, and the Kings of SARDINIA and PORTUGAL.– Messrs. Lenny and Co., coachbuilders and harnessmakers, 20, 21, 22, and 23, North-end, Croydon, beg to call attention to their NEW REGISTERED HOLFORD, forming a complete close carriage, with wicker or plain panels, and weighing only 5 1/2cwt., suitable for a 14 hands horse. They are building for full-sized horses, single and double seated, lighter by hundreds of pounds than any other close carriage built. N.B. Carriages of all kinds built to order, or on hire, with liberty to purchase, and for exportation ; also their cheap, light, and elegant Croydon basket carriages, in every shape and size.
Let's not forget the children:

STUDY your CHILDREN'S HEALTH, and buy one of HILL'S PATENT SAFETY PERAMBULATORS, at the wholesale price. Invalid carriages in variety. Illustrated price list for one stamp.–Hill's manufactory, 212, Piccadilly: established as coachmakers 30 years.

Then you need to take your carriage out for a slap-up feed amidst the Great Stink, or perhaps on holiday:

THE BEST DINNERS in London are at the ROYAL WINE SHADES, 5, Leicester-square, consisting of six soups, six sorts of fish, and eight joints, cheeses and celery, all for 1s. 6d. per head, from 2 o'clock until half-past 8.

STATE OF THE THAMES.–J. D. ROBERTS begs to announce that the bad state of the Thames has never been perceptible at the ARTICHOKE, but that the pure air for which Blackwall has always been celebrated is still equally delightful and refreshing–Artichoke Tavern, Blackwall, July, 1858.

The Artichoke was an ancient pub, soon demolished for the Blackwall Tunnel. Its air may not have been as pure as advertised: a guano processing plant was located nearby…

Thursday, 17 September 2009

Shopping, 1858 style!

A gentleman can be kitted out most handsomely through the good offices of The Times:

HORSE and DOG CART for SALE–a fast trotting little horse and good light dog cart, harness and stable gear. Price £80. The property of S. J. Auld, Esq., the Grove, Hanwell. Particulars to be had at Rymer's stables, Cambridge-Street, Edgeware-road.

Oddly enough, my wallet is from this next company (a present from my father), and they also make this, which I really, really want:

SWAINE and ADENY, whip manufacturers to Her Majesty and H. R. H. the Prince Consort, and Royal Family, inform the public that they have no other establishment than at 185, Piccadilly, opposite Burlington House, W. A handsome assortment of all kinds of whips, including prize whips and whips for presents parasol and fan whips, patent seamless handle whips, chowries for the East Indies, Rhinoceros horn whips and other novelties always on hand ; also stock whips for Australia and New Zealand. N.B. merchants and shippers liberally dealt with.

(A chowry was a fly whisk, often made with the bushy end of a yak's tail).

If you think a dog cart (not, I hasten to add, a cart pulled by dogs, unfortunately), then hearken to this politely hectoring address - car salesmen haven't changed much:

WHY DO YOU DRIVE A RATTLETRAP?–See opinions of scientific gentlemen and others on M. DAVIS'S PATENT CAOUTCHOUC CARRIAGE WHEELS:–"Like walking a velvet-carpet without shoes" "They impart a delightful exhilirating, exciting and thrilling buoyancy to the spirits." "It is surprising that from time immemorial carriagemakers, although they perceive wheels fail at the weak points, pursue no steps to a remedy. By the simple contrivance you have patented, you have completely mastered this defect ; but it is infinitely more surprising that our carriagebuilders should raise their superstructure on a crumbling corner stone." "Applied to omnibuses and cabs, it would convert them into real saloons, and not a name without the qualification the name implies." "Your Patent Caoutchouc Wheels is an undertaking deserving public support. It would save the country above a million per annum in road-making, and the streets of London would be the finest and leanest in the world." "I know from actual experiment that there is not perceptible wear in caoutchouc or a proper preparation of Indiarubber." "I consider iron-tired wheels dangerous to drive compared with your patent caoutchouc. The difference consists in a continuous and an intermittent noise. You cannot judge the distance of the rolling, deafening, massive bars of iron, but the intermittent intonation from the horses feet strike the ear in time to avoid danger." "The hind seat of a dog-cart is something fearful to many persons–with patent caoutchouc wheels it is as comfortable as 'my old arm chair'."–Caoutchouc Wheel Works, 5, Lyon's-inn, Strand : M. Davis, patentee and manager.

Caoutchouc is rubber. Tomorrow: servants and household furnishings.

No accusations, just friendly crustaceans, under the sea…

(Sorry. I love that Simpsons song).

Imaginary Friend has kindly sent me the latest Austen mashup, Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. If it's as good as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, it will be a blast.

You're my fact-checking cuz…

Pavement may be getting back together! Good for a much-missed band or a retrograde step for a bunch of blokes who ended their time together very miserably indeed?



Ladies and gentlemen, this civilisation is now closed. Please make your way to the exits

Coming home at midnight after a hard evening's fencing, I slumped in front of the TV while I ate delicious home-made soup.

I was confronted by an advert which made me so furious that I hardly slept last night, so beset was I with plans to raze to the ground the headquarters of Skinny Water.

Oh yes. We all know that bottled water is an affront to economics and the environment, but these cynical monsters are peddling their water as 'low calorie' - as opposed to their rivals and tap water. I now realise that I'm a fat git not because of my prodigious intake of pork products and beer. I'm a fat git because I've been drinking highly calorific tap H20, or 'Fatty Water' as they no doubt term it.

They've added a load of crap with pseudo-scientific compound names and dubious claims ('Crave', 'Shape Control', 'Detox') and even claim that different times of day require different waters. Most egregiously of all, they used the term 'bio synergy' in the TV advert, which means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING in relation to water, but does sound healthy and energetic.

Do yourself a favour - drink from the tap and don't ever, EVER give houseroom to people who make up this quack, charlatan nonsense. Ooh, I'm so angry.

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Yeah, 9/11 victims' families, shut up!

Glen Beck, racist, neofascist Fox 'News' demagogue on the World Trade Center victims' families, as quoted in this piece about the broadcasting charmer:

"It took me about a year to start hating the 9/11 victims' families . . . When I see a 9/11 victim family on television or whatever, I'm just like, 'Oh, shut up!' I'm so sick of them because they're always complaining."
Gotta love the Murdochs, their wacky idea of quality journalism and their hatred of the BBC!

Forties, Cromarty, rising.

Radio 4, despite sometimes being self-absorbed and bourgeois, is one of the glories of Britain: informed, intelligent and varied. A particular jewel in the crown is the Shipping Forecast, in which a beautifully calm voice (Charlotte Green, Peter Jefferson) reads the special weather for boats, just before the (ugh) national anthem at 12.59 a.m. Fishermen don't listen to it and change course - they've got satellite feeds for that kind of thing. It's for insomniacs and night-owls.

Now one Jefferson is being sacked, allegedly not because he said 'fuck' under his breath after fluffing a link a few weeks ago, but because the BBC wants 'new' people to fill this five minute late-night slot. I'll miss him and don't think he should go. If they come for Charlotte, I'll be firebombing Broadcasting House.

Poetry please

In case I haven't previously plugged it, run free in the Poetry Archive: huge numbers of poets reading their own work, going back as far as Tennyson and taking in Ginsberg and Langston Hughes along the way!

Where's the humanity?

"The Schools of Humanities, Languages and Social Sciences and Legal Studies are now combined as the School of Law, Social Sciences and Communications - LSSC"

Anyone suddenly feeling unloved?

Cash back!

Neal has passed on this TED lecture on why bonuses don't work.
Executive here get Performance Related Pay (£11 million, in the last year for which figures are available). I wonder how a multimillion pound shortfall, 250 redundancies, reduced courses and bigger classes are calculated… they'll probably get a bonus for their genius (ahem) solutions to the problems they've caused.

News from Norway

Not the most thrilling story for most of you, I admit, but they had a general election in the Nordic Paradise on Monday. The ruling (in coalition) Labour Party gained a few seats, the Socialist Left party lost a few. The Communists and Greens have no seats, unfortunately, nor do the Republicans. The Conservatives gained a few and the rightwing Progress Party quite a lot, but the Labour/Socialist Left/Centre Party coalition will maintain power. Hooray!

How did Labour and their allies do it? By promising to spend MORE on the already wonderful Norwegian Welfare State! Meanwhile in Britain, we're going to respond to being bankrupted by naked capitalist bankers by electing the naked capitalist Conservative Party, on a ticket of slashing public services and punishing the blameless poor, to pay for bailing out the bankers. Well done, people of Britain.

Of cardboard and paper

I'm definitely moving house to a decent enough flat in the town centre, getting the keys a week on Friday. Now I'm overwhelmed with thoughts of the packing, the shelving required (70-80 metres for the books and records) and the cold hard cash… frightening. Next week will be spent alternately teaching and packing! Obviously I should cut down on things which need moving, but I called into the bookshop to order the poetry course textbook and ended up buying four more books: Andrew Brown's examination of Sweden, Fishing in Utopia: Sweden and the Future that Disappeared, a new translation of Y Mabinogion (my fourth), Michel Faber's satirical The Fire Gospel, and some bracing polemic, Slavoj Zizek's Violence.

Neal, Emma and I went to the Hogs last night - watched Manchester United grind out a dull win and lost in the pool competition - me in the first game, Neal in the second.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

A long, long day.

What a tiring day it's been. Two induction sessions for students, who looked as shellshocked as I felt, and the biggest union meeting I've ever seen - basically everybody was there. Funny how the prospect of unemployment or doing somebody else's job on top of your own produces a sense of militancy and solidarity.

It was quite uplifting - we're not going to take this rubbish lying down. It really infuriates me that higher management have dumped us £8 million in the hole by misreporting our student numbers, yet not a single one of them has apologised, resigned or suggested any way to recoup this money in any other way than to sack teachers, reduce course choices and increase class sizes - all the things guaranteed to help students drop out… into a vicious circle.

Moving out is starting to become a reality too - Gerry and Mark have delivered a great pile of boxes to my house. Now I need to work out how I can get, afford and squeeze 70-80 metres of shelving into a one-bedroom flat.

So - home to pack, eat delicious home-made soup, read up on poetry and Shakespeare, then it's swimming and fencing tomorrow.

I have reached the nerdcore

At long last, I have had a visitor from CERN, in Switzerland. Why is that important? For so many reasons. CERN is where Tim Berners-Lee invented the world wide web (on a NeXT machine, and now he's a Mac user, as NeXT became Mac OS), in response to his inability to access a computer locked in a colleague's office. It's where the Large Hadron Collider is. All sorts of very cool science is conducted there.

I am going to assume that Berners-Lee himself is now a reader of Plashing Vole.

What was he looking for? I must admit that he wasn't seeking political or cultural enlightenment. He googled 'Floyd Swayze death'.

PS. A quick tip to new students. Don't book a holiday for the very first two weeks of your university career.

Let's all move to Sweden…

(or the Netherlands): Sweden offers FREE higher education for home and international students, and in a few years' time, most Swedish degrees will be in English. The down side is the loss of cultural autonomy - it's important that smaller languages keep going in all spheres.

The up side is that they'll be needing suave, outgoing lecturers keen to move to sophisticated societies. Time to polish the CV, methinks.

By the way, students: we have links with many European universities and funding to send you there for a year - it's a brilliant experience, and an extra year in university might be a good option at the moment - talk to your tutor or subject leader.

Never mind Swayze: Keith Floyd's dead

Every time I see a celebrity chef on TV, I mourn the absence of Keith Floyd from our screens, and now his comeback is indefinitely postponed due to death. He was a drunken, rude, bossy curmudgeon, on-screen and off. He didn't care about anything other than food and drink, and particularly rejected the tired old conventions of TV cuisine. He had a massive ego and a love of violently arguing with pretty much anyone involved in his career, but none of this matters, because his show consisted of demonstrating that fine food involves love, fun, wine, decent ingredients and passion.

Guten Morgen, ich bin deine Lehrer

I met the new students of English today. They are, of course, a delight, though I have to ask: what is it with Nazis, guys? Favourite book, The Diary of Anne Frank, favourite film, Schindler's List etc. etc. etc. Clearly the A-level curriculum is run by somebody very weird indeed…

Monday, 14 September 2009

More old news

From the Times, August 7th 1858

BIRMINGHAM TRIENNIAL MUSICAL FESTIVAL, August 31, Sept. 1, 2, and 3, 1858–Detailed PROGRAMMES are now ready, and may be had on application to the Secretary, Mr. Henry Howell, 34, Bennett's-hill, Birmingham.
BURFORD'S LUCKNOW and DELHI PANORAMAS.–Now OPEN, these splendid VIEWS showing all the interesting features of the recent terrific conflicts. The Right Kulm and a portion of Switzerland at Sunrise are also open. Admission 1s. to each view. Daily from 10 till dusk.–Leicester-square.

We could, however, think about emigration - there are well over a hundred adverts for passage to Australia, India, the United States and further.

ELLEN STUART for MELBOURNE.–Black Ball Line of packets.–The magnificent Liverpool-built clipper ship ELLEN STUART, 1,388 tons register, 4,000 tons burtdn, Capt. ROBERT BROWN, will sail from Liverpool on Sept. 5. This splendid ship was built in Liverpool for the owners of the Black Ball Line, under their immediate supervision, and having been designed expressly for their Australian packet service, and no expense spared in her construction, she is allowed to be the most perfect passenger ship in port. She has a full poop, and the chief cabin is a beautiful apartment, with an after saloon for ladies. The state rooms are furnished with bedding, towels &c. The second cabin, intermediate, and steerage are thoroughly lighted and ventilated. Apply to James Baines and Co., Tower-buildings, Liverpool ; or to T. M. Mackay and Co., 2, Moorgate-street, London, E.C.
STEAM (under 60 days) to AUSTRALIA.–Passage £14 and upwards.–The Liverpool and Australian Navigation Company's celebrated auxiliary steam clippers, in conjunction with the Eagle Line of packets, are despatched on the 15th of each month to the consignment of Bright, Brothers and Co., Melbourne, forwarding passengers to all parts of Australia. RESOLUTE, WALLACE, 3,000 tons, 15th August. These clipper ships are guaranteed to sail to the day, and are famed for the superiority of the provisioning and passenger accommodation. Packet of 15th August, the new A 1 clipper ship Resolute, 1, 112 tons register, 3, 000 tons burden. The saloon accommodation is unsurpassed by any ship afloat ; she is fitted with baths, closets &c., and everything necessary for comfort during the voyage. The fore cabin and 'tween deck arrangements are most excellent. Apply to Gibbs, Bright, and Co., 1, North John-street, Liverpool ; or to Roberts and Irving, 9, Cornhill, London.

Though you may want to stay closer to home:

YARMOUTH and BACK, 8s.––The General Steam Navigation Company's STEAM-SHIPS leave London-bridge-wharf for YARMOUTH every Wednesday and Saturday, at 4 afternoon. Saloon, 8s., ; fore, 5s. ; return tickets 12s., or 8s.

Join the caravan of love



Christine and James have won a 'pimped' vintage caravan, despite having only one car-parking space on their hill. I'm highly impressed, but we need details! Like WHY? And what happens to this wallpaper when it rains?

To win, they needed to write and perform a caravan rap. Hear it here. If you dare. More details of this folly here.

Writing Tips

This is wise, and true:

It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you're in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you're dealing with someone who can't.

(By the way, here's a simple way to find out if you're a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you're not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)


From a longer piece by screenwriter Josh Olson. The last sentence is the most important.

Paul Flynn MP, hero

This is Classic Labour MP Paul Flynn on one of the worst New Labour ministers (now departed to fat directorships), John Hutton:
On many occasions I have criticised former Minister John Hutton. I have never seen the point of him. Personality free, he is a blank page who always bears the imprint of the last lobbyist who sat on him. The answers he has given to all the questions I have asked him prove that he is stupid. Now there are allegations that he is greedy. Of course. That's in fashion now.

Read more here.

Punt

What do you call an Argentinian narrowboat enthusiast?
Argy-bargee.

Argentinian-Indian fusion cooking?
Argy-bhaji.

Meanwhile, the anagram generator keeps on giving: William Shakespeare comes out most accurately as 'I Am A Weakish Speller' (he spelled his name in several ways), and Margaret Thatcher ironically provides 'That Great Charmer'.

What a long, strange weekend it's been

How was your weekend? Mine was pretty action-packed.

On Friday, Mark, Neal Emma and I tucked into the Mussaman curry which was this month's Culture, Cheese and Pineapple experience. It was vegetarian (squashes instead of meat) in deference to Emma and Mark, and Neal did all the cooking. It was a revelation - coconut, tamarind, lime leaves and all sorts of other goodnesses combined to produce food heaven, so thanks Neal. We washed it all down with an excellent array of real ales, and Emma provided horrendously chocolaty puddings.

Then Saturday saw the British Fencing Annual General Meeting in Telford. Most impressively, a sport of 10,000 participants managed to see 23 people turn up at the AGM, most of whom were directors or bigwigs of some sort. I managed to ask a couple of awkward questions, a rule change was pushed through enabling the board to change any bye-laws without consultation, and we sat through presentations about the future of fencing: basically, let's grab as much cash as is going, professionalise the structures and produce recreational and medal-winning fencers. I know this doesn't sound too revolutionary, but the buffers don't like it, perhaps put off by the inevitably management-speak it was all dressed up in. I'm quite keen though: it's time my sports wasn't solely associated with posh schools and the aristocracy - it isn't in other countries.

Finally, Neal, Emma and I went to Birmingham for the Arts Festival. We enjoyed Brawd (blokes with guitars), the Music Maze (participatory sessions) run by Birmingham Contemporary Music Group (Emma declined to bang things, but Neal and I had a ball) and foaming pints of real ale. We played on the BBC's science toys (Bang Goes The Theory) and mooched around the art stuff in the Town Hall. The only down side was the absence of the hot girls with books Neal had spotted the day before.

Sit back and relax, with the sounds of the seventies

Well, Monday again and I'm back in my otherwise deserted office, listening to the oddest song I've heard in a long time. Mark has an obsession with The Odd Couple, the 70s sitcom. Now he's discovered Tony Randall and Jack Klugman's cover of 'You're So Vain'. It uncomfortably reminds me of life with Neal!


Friday, 11 September 2009

Until Monday, Farewell!

Further to The Culture, Cheese and Pineapple, Neal's cooking a Mussaman curry for Emma, Mark and I tonight. Then tomorrow it's Ho! for the British Fencing AGM. I couldn't face dinner with the buffers, but I'll turn up for the business and the mini-conference, hand over my UKSG welfare report and go home, hopefully unentangled by the politics. Ho ho ho.

Have a good weekend.

Friday conundrum time!

It's Friday afternoon, so the staff here are obsessed with this Name Anagram Generator. If you're good at Scrabble, you can work out my actual name from Brainy Dean. The vice-chancellor, ironically enough, comes out as 'Principal Egos', and Zoot Horn is Calendar Girl. Poor Mark comes out as Jerk Moans.

Anyway, how about a conundrum. A practical one this time. Do I spend my spare money (e.g. what I don't spend on rent and books) on:
a) driving lessons. I'm 34 and haven't hitherto bothered.
b) more violin lessons. I wasn't much good. I'd practice now. Really.
c) smack. It's the only response to living in Wolverhampton.

What skill would you really like to acquire?

I miss Shoegaze

Some Slowdive ('Souvlaki Space Station' from the epic album Souvlaki), and my favourite Mojave 3 track, 'Mercy', though the full electric version has more power. Shoegaze is now highly fashionable as an influence over some electronic bands, but they just don't have the shame that's so integral to the genre.



Man Ray (LaMontagne)

Last night I had the pleasure of seeing Ray LaMontagne, of whom I'd only read in Word magazine. (Thanks, by the way, for your comments). Why do all American musicians have beards at the moment, except Kelly Deal? Talking of Kelly Deal, she really is the perfect woman: she's designed her own font and it's free! Her band The Breeders have a site called Breeder's Digest, which is rather brilliant.

I went because Christine and James had managed to book an extra ticket in a different area of the venue - so I ended up on my own, in the balcony, directly in front of the singer - brilliant. Less brilliant was sitting next to a yummy mummy and her daughters Portia and India (I'm guessing). Clearly Mr. LaMontagne and his support act, Radio 2-friendly Josh Ritter, are approved objects of middle-class desire. After they sneered at the scruffy fat singleton in a Green Lantern t-shirt, I sipped beer and read my Shakespeare commentary during the intervals. That showed them.

So anyway, the music. It was odd. I'd heard of LaMontagne and Ritter, and assumed that they were middlingly well-known sensitive folk-country artistes, and so they are. I didn't realise that Mr. Lamontagne is the object of freakish devotion - a mostly full hall (probably 2500) at £25 a go in Wolverhampton is truly astonishing. They whistled, stamped and cheered like Mormons at Joseph Smith's resurrection (don't write in - I've no idea if Mr Smith is expected to rise again, though I imagine the Church would like to know the whereabouts of the golden tablets detailing the Semitic origins of America's ancient peoples he 'received from the prophet/angel/time-traveller Moroni' and then 'misplaced' or 'returned to the angel' before anyone else got a look. Actually, Some Chilean Woman could enlighten us). But I digress. LaMontagne's music was good. It was country-folk-blues and the later the set got, the more impassioned he became. The band was beautifully lit in pools of liquid, varying light, and they stood on rugs, which added to the 1970s atmosphere.

Actually, they reminded me of the post-Slowdive band Mojave 3 but more country, which is high praise from me (listen to some here)!

Then home for the glorious, ambiguous and complex ending to The Wire… Here's LaMontagne on somebody's crappy mobile phone from a couple of years ago, in Wolverhampton. There's nothing up yet from last night's gig.

Morning. Ish.

Hello readers. How are you all? I sort of took the morning off. Instead of swimming and coming into the office, I went to Birmingham to look at furniture. I'd received a leaflet which promised things like 'Eames Chair, was £1500, now 20p'. It turned out to be obscenely expensive articles reduced to merely extortionate and I bought nothing. I was tempted by the massive bookshelves (damaged) reduced from £12500 to £10,500, mostly because they featured a ladder on runners. I'd only have required three…

Then I went to Habitat in Brum, which is now a rather forlorn 'outlet'. Tempted by an elegant sun lounger which would serve very well as a chaise-longue, and by the extremely cheap, solid CD storage, but couldn't be bothered. I'll just see what the parents have in the attic when I move in a few weeks.

Exhausted, I met Bec from my PGCE to compare teaching workload and colleagues. She's over from Walsall for graduation, and was resplendent in a suit and Staffordshire Uni gown (staff wear the gear from the institution at which they gained their highest qualification). I was less resplendent in my 2004 English Youth Championships fencing t-shirt, 501s and an ancient but very cool pair of superannuated fencing trainers. People think I'm the photocopier engineer.

Thursday, 10 September 2009

Who loves ya, Birmingham?

Merciless posted a link to this legendary film in the comments section, and I feel you should all see Telly Savalas's guide to Birmingham, from sometime in the 1970s.

We academics don't change much

I'm reading Schoenbaum's Shakespeare's Lives at the moment - it's very good. In it, I found this description of an 18th-century academic, which fits almost exactly the character and appearance of one of my colleagues. English lit students and staff are invited to speculate.

Of Farmer, it was said that he enjoyed three things above all else–old port, old clothes and old books–and that there were three things he could not be persuaded to do: rise in the morning, go to bed at night, and settle an account [this last doesn't apply, as my colleague always buys his round]. To such externals as his personal appearance he was happily indifferent… [he met the Archbishop of Canterbury] "dressed in stockings of unbleached thread, brown breeches, and a wig not worth a shilling"… his most delighted hours were spent over good wine, and amiable conversation in the common room…

To me, he sounds like the perfect academic, and great company.

Your critical opinions are valued

I'm going to a gig by Ray LaMontagne tonight, as Christine and her husband James have a spare ticket. Any opinions? I've heard he's good, but never heard anything by him. I'll probably spend the afternoon checking out last.fm and Youtube stuff by him.

Take a strong draught of Meades

I'm agitating to get Jonathan Meades an honorary doctorate next year. What do you think? He's the sharp-suited, sunglassed, freakish architecture fan, food writer, offbeat Victorianist and cultural historian who alone justifies the licence fee. He even wrote presented a documentary about Birmingham called Heart By-Pass.

Watch some of his work at the Meades Shrine. His books include Filthy English, English Extremists, and Incest and Morris Dancing. Documentaries include: Jerry Building: Unholy Relics of the Third Reich, Queen Victoria died in 1901 but is alive and well today, Surrealism and Magnetic North, in which he explored the cultures of Northern Europe, to stunning effect.

He's also a leading secularist and humanist.

Here's a taste of Heart By-Pass:

Not waving but drowning

Good Morning Campers, Hi-de-hi! That's what I felt like last week as I traipsed round an enclosed Welsh campus making sure everyone was happy - wearing livid yellow.


I went swimming today, for the first time in two weeks. It was neither pleasant nor reassuring - fully five minutes slower on my 1500 metres than previously. Shameful. Bits of me finished each lap several metres behind…


Wednesday, 9 September 2009

What a relief Walden's a fictional university, eh readers?


I love Doonesbury. Click on the image for a larger version.


Final few photos from Cardiff (neat alliteration, huh?)

As always, click on the images for a larger version. The whole set is here.

Ismay Cowen (British Fencing director) seems at a loss…

Georgia Manikum-Hannay moves fast!

A Scots sabreur tastes defeat.

Another sabreur gives a referee the death stare

More fencing shots

I'm quite pleased with this one - both feet off the ground.

Victory and defeat in one shot.

Curtis can't believe what the referee just said!


Watching the box!

To the point

The Welsh Assembly building - astonishing.

A Welsh epeeist prepares for a fight:


Ben Hughes can't believe what's just happened.

Nor can Steve Cowen (England manager) and Matt Haynes (England coach)

Darren Campbell, Olympic medallist, pays his respects to James Davis!

Picture this

At last, I've posted my photos of the UK School Games - some of Cardiff Bay prior to the opening ceremony, which I missed because I took some drenched fencers home early, and many of the fencing. Some are quite good, but I'm not quite used to fast sports photos. Others will only be of interest to the individuals concerned, of course. These were taken as the weather closed in. Click on them for larger images








Coincidence or conspiracy

I hate to introduce the word cock-up in this context, but over at Sue's Blog, her post linking to the notoriously homophobic Daily Mail brought up the verification word 'bumsomy', which is surely a street version of 'bum sodomy' (Americans: bum is a childish word for posterior in UK vernacular).

This has amused me more than it should.

Tuesday, 8 September 2009

Mischief managed

Well, that's graduation done. Decent speech from the Students' Union vice-president, worthy ones from the worthies. The honorary degree went to Sathnam Sanghera, who despite his day job with the Murdoch press, wrote an excellent memoir of growing up in Sikh Wolverhampton, Love, Secrets and Lies in Wolverhampton, and gave a great little acceptance speech. Other highlights were a card from Christine, and seeing the engraved Pen Anna-Maria gave to William. He's a Baudrillard expert and she's spent the summer at Disneyland, so the pen quoted JB: 'Disneyland is paradise…' - the other half of the quote speaks of 'toxic excrement'.

I felt a little less like Laura Ashley curtains circa 1986 this evening, after a student pointed out that our robes are in Gryffindor colours. Now to the pub to accept libations from survivors (or graduates, as they're technically called).

PS. I almost forgot. According to the platform speeches, Wolverhampton is the greatest university in the world, with a bright future. And not a place which is sacking 250 employees (management exempt), cutting degrees and modules, reducing student workload, increasing surviving staff's workload and increasing class sizes at all! How wrong I've been.

Valete, graduands

That's one graduation ceremony down. It's always a mixture of sweat, pride, laughter and astonishment - it's hot, there's a real thrill in seeing some of the students getting through and/or doing well, there are always amusing interjections from the crowd, and there's always the chance to put a face to the names of students whose attendance was not always, shall we say, 100%. Meeting the parents is always fun too. Nobody's asked for a refund on their fees yet, though when I got my PhD, some of the media/cultural studies students asked if I had any qualification in their field at all. The answer, of course, is no. However, they passed, so can't complain! The speeches are always very dull, especially from those who use the same one year on year. Frank Skinner's getting an honorary PhD though!

Almost time for a pre-match drink before the second go.

Back to the books

In my absence, the flow of lovely books did not stop. Today's haul included Norman Cohn's The Pursuit of the Millennium: Revolutionary Millenarians and Mystical Anarchists of the Middle Ages, a classic detailing the period in which religion and politics were nigh on indistinguishable, and in which political radicalism and heresy often went together. Thanks to Norbert for the recommendation! I've also dived into European literature - which we, and certainly I, shamefully neglect. I've bought Cees Nooteboom's postmodern The Following Story and volume 1 of Peter Weiss's The Aesthetics of Resistance: a novel. One day, I promise myself, I'll be able to read it in the original. I can read French and with some effort, Welsh, but I'm continually ashamed of my limited abilities in languages.

What else? A collection of Margaret Atwood's essays called Curious Pursuits, and David Horspool's The English Rebel: One Thousand Years of Troublemaking from the Normans to the Nineties. It looks like a slightly more conservative companion to Vallance's A Radical History of Britain. I love this stuff because despite the many evils perpetrated by English and then British imperialism, the British are also recalcitrant bunch who don't want to be pushed around. You decapitated a king before the French and staged numerous other revolts from the Peasants to the Poll Tax. Revive that tradition!

I also received a replacement Danish Literature Tree and Renaissance Tree posters - very beautiful.

Stop! Grammar Time!

OK, not grammar really, but who could resist such a pun?





Shamefully, two of these pictures are taken in a UNIVERSITY coffee shop. What is the point of trying to instil literacy into students when their own institution can't be bothered?


Monday, 7 September 2009

Font of all goodness

I freely admit that in some things, I'm a nerd. I'm proud to say that I love, and care about, typography.

So here's a bit of titillation, and a link to IKEAgate. Verdana indeed.

This blog, by the way, uses Georgia. I also love Gill Sans (especially Roman), and would love Johnston Sans (designed for the London Underground). Helvetica, of course, is the most progressive and lovely font outside these two (now a major motion picture). Do you have a favourite typeface?

(By the way, for the purists, I know that the title of this post is inaccurate. Fonts and typefaces aren't the same. But I was desperate for a good pun).

Heeeere's Voley

Hello again. Gosh, how I've missed you, even though some of you have used my absence to snark away in the comments section and to make sure that any lingering threads of anonymity remaining have been ripped away. Cynical - photos of me aren't much use in identifying me, as readers either have met me in the flesh, or live so far away that the chances of recognising me on the street from an online photo are infinitesimal! One of my faithful read was at the UKSG though - Simon. Surprisingly for one of my 'friends', he forebore from bullying me. Usually he at least deliberately gets my name wrong. Stupid Fat Hobbit.

I've realised that what I thought was tinnitus actually is the sound of keys clicking - it went away for the duration of my sojourn in the lands of Best Practice, Video Replays and Polyester. Talking of Polyester, thanks to the England, Northern Ireland and Wales teams for presenting me with rather cool team kit - Scotland would have, except that the kit provision was rubbish and they were left with XXS, despite having no fencers anywhere near that size…

Anyway, I won't go on tonight - I've had three hours of sleep each night for the past few days, so I'm having a beer (first one for a week) then going to bed. Highlights? Meeting Denise Lewis, Jason Gardener, Darren Campbell and Kate Allenby, quietly organising birthday cakes for fencers, and having Lorraine Rose as my Welfare partner. Lowlights? Some of the serious stuff I had to deal with, getting up before 6 every day, the bright yellow Welfare hoodies and polo shirts (two, for 5 days?) and the silverfish infestations resulting in helping teams move accommodation at 2 a.m.: watch out, anyone moving into Talybont halls at Cardiff Uni. (Though the staff at Cardiff and UWIC were lovely, and worked incredibly hard).

I'll post some decent photos tomorrow, some rants no doubt. But tomorrow's another big day - two graduation ceremonies to attend. I'll be wearing another silly uniform: Wolverhampton's PhD rig looks like a 1980s Laura Ashley curtain set - brocaded yellow and cerise, topped by a weird hat. Still, it's kind of fun, and I'll try not to recall choice phrases from students' essays as they receive their degrees! Actually, there are quite a few I'll miss, especially those whose projects I've supervised, and those whose lives have been transformed. That's the kind of thing that makes this job worthwhile, despite the best efforts of outsiders and management.

OK, I can feel a rant coming, so I'll log off and save it for tomorrow.

Thursday, 3 September 2009

Do thrusting V-C's wreck their universities?

There's been a trend in vice-chancellor appointments over the past couple of decades to go for supposed go-ahead, business-oriented, ambitious yuppy types, often akin to David Brent but on much, much, higher salaries. Now some research discussed in the Times Higher Education (27th August 2009, pp. 6-7) magazine suggests that they may be damaging their universities. I make no further comment!

Flamboyant, arrogant vice-chancellors who are initially perceived as 'heroic' or 'visionary' may end up damaging their universities in the long term.
A Study by Malcolm Higgs… found that, in business, the domineering behaviour of narcissistic managers often damage long-term performance.
Professor Higgs told THE that his findings were also likely to apply to universities.
'What's interesting is that damage doesn't occur immediately… When you have a narcissistic leader, the culture of the organisation slowly changes, so problems come up mid-term'.
…as well as possessing charisma and a strong sense of vision, narcissistic types are grandiose, intolerant of criticism, unwilling to compromise, arrogant, self-absorbed and have a sense of entitlement and a need to be admired.
His paper… warns that these traits may have a negative effect on the 'internal climate' of an organisation, and may prevent others challenging the party line.
Professor Higgs said that working cultures become really toxic when senior managers begin to collude with the narcissist's behaviour.
'People start thinking that they need to protect the boss from hearing anything nasty– that's when the culture starts to shift. Staff adapt their behaviour towards keeping the boss happy. From the top to the bottom, people are covering things up rather than admitting things are going wrong'.
He told THE that other research had found that chief executives who are successful in the long term often tend to be 'quiet people with a great deal of humility'. Despite this, in difficult times… organisations are more likely to turn to leaders who are perceived as 'strong' to 'shake up' the business, he said.

Why Stoke should be razed to the ground (part 43)

This is disgusting. At least, I think it is.

As I departed Stoke-on-Trent yesterday, I passed a family outing. Standing next to his mother was a boy of about 14.

On his t-shirt was the revolting legend 'I eat pussy like a fat man eats cake', adorned with a picture of a slice of cake.

This led me to ponder the parental choices made. Is this somehow OK now? Am I really deeply conservative and the world has moved on? How is this possibly acceptable as children's clothing?

I'm guessing that a fat man eats cake with little care for enjoyment or other people's pleasure, so in fact the slogan's quite threatening. It links consensual activity with selfish consumption, and uses a particularly revolting term to boot.

Worse than that, it was clearly untrue. This boy was large. Very large. It should have read 'I eat cake like an sex-addict eats pussy'.

Nobody in Norway wore slogan t-shirts.

I am Spoc(k)

Just for the day - Single Point of Contact for my sport. Yes, it's management-speak, but I like the nerdiness of it. Leonard Nimoy's first autobiography was called I Am Not Spock.


Turns out, decades later, that he was.

My Week in Polyester

Hello civilians. Here I am, in a rather good student residence at Cardiff University, and you wouldn't recognise me.

I turned up yesterday for interminable meetings and orientations, wearing my habitual academia-cool rig: cherry-red DMs, black 501s, quietly striped shirt. You know, the devastatingly suave look I've adopted over the years.

Within an hour, I was wearing man-made fibres in the most horrendous shades, and my conversation has headed the same way. My particular team is wearing a particularly fetching virulent yellow shade this year - polo shirts and hoodies (I've brought my camera, so may trat . This garb is compulsory for the next five days, despite them giving us only two shirts…

Once dressed as a Tracksuit Studies student, you're treated as one. No more talk of books, music or any of the other things that make us rounded people. Instead, we talk of development, and Fast Track, training camps and performance skills, slag off our National Governing Body presidents and bemoan the disaster which befall us. We share our tales of visiting glamorous cities, to see only the inside of a sports hall, then we disperse to count kit or check bus provision.

Yes, it's going to be a weird weekend. This morning we meet the Athlete Village Leaders and other strangely-monickered people, then the early arrivals appear. Later on, the full teams turn up and the firefighting begins. Meetings at 6.30 a.m. and patrolling corridors until 2. There's a posh opening ceremony with all sorts of Olympians tonight, then competition starts tomorrow.

As they say in a popular film: No more reading - time to ROCK!

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

Looks like we got ourselves…

This phrase has been used in my presence frequently - now Neal's sent me the source:

More lessons from history

Rich people have always tried to get us to pay for their fun (sometimes justifiably). Even in 1858, there were appeals to save artwork from export:

Will the ENGLISH PUBLIC ALLOW this grand PICTURE to be LOST for ever from this COUNTRY? – Now EXHIBITING, CHARLES the FIRST's long-lost inimitable SLEEPING VENUS, the chef-d'oeuvre of Titian. A large number of connoisseurs from all parts of the globe pronounce it faultless. I am willing to exhibit the picture against any other Titian for beauty of feature and perfection of colour, drawing and design.–J. C. BARRATT, 369, Strand. Admission 1s.

This might be the Giorgione 'Sleeping Venus' with possible background work by Titian, now in the Gemäldegalerie, Dresden, or Titian's 'Venus of Urbino' in the Uffizi, Florence.

More historical extracts when I get back from Wales in a few days.

Moving into private halls?

Talking of decamping to expensive accommodation, the Guardian's Money section had an interesting column on the hugely increasing cost of halls of residence.

I only lived in halls for the last term of my third year - after three years of coping with nutters (most of whom are still my friends) in cold and filthy conditions, I needed somewhere quiet and dry to revise for my Finals. It was weird, OK, but basic, and it cost a rather pricy (for then) £28 per week.

Now some of you are moving into flats in town which look like the set of Friends, at huge expense. I hope it works out, but the amount of money required scares the hell out of me - around £5000+, piling on to your already enormous debts.

Where's the money going? As Collinson elucidates, Liberty Living is a financial vehicle which raised rents in its halls by 6.8% this year - inflation this year is MINUS 0.5% and rents are generally falling in the private sector. The couple who own the company recently bought a Swiss house for £26 million pounds. So they can afford it when your payment is a week or two late…

More trees cut off in their prime

A good haul of books today, a mix of nerd genres! This has got to stop, as I'll soon be moving into a much more expensive flat, which will be filled with bookshelves.

I received Edward Vallance's A Radical History of Britain, Christopher Brookmyre's comic novel Pandaemonium, Jedediah Berry's (didn't he found Springfield?) steampunk The Manual of Detection, the Crisis on Infinite Earths book (the 1985 superhero strip which resolved the horrific mess the DC canon had got into) and H. G. Wells's Tono-Bungay and A Modern Utopia in a single edition from some time in the 1920s.

Why my job is really exciting

I've just spent 1 hour and 45 minutes in a small, hot room with 6 other people, discussing the word 'and', and the difference between 'less likely' and 'unlikely'. The meanings impact on whether a large group of people get a backdated pay rise or no pay rise at all.

Have I learned much? That management are gits, and that facts are less important than your place in the hierarchy.

Yo!

Hello everybody. What did you all do with your Bank Holiday Monday, those of you in the UK, at least. I went home to be in the bosom of my family - the two married siblings, my youngest sister, parents and grandmother, and mostly read and ate. Happy 49th to my uncle Peter too! Before I departed the Potteries, I also called in on Anita, who has quit the boredom of Dublin and previously New York for the giddy heights of Stoke-on-Trent. Hope she can cut it in the land of Arnold Bennett, Dinah Craik and Stanley Matthews.

I notice, for all you football fans (soccer to the Irish and American readers) that Stoke are in the Europa League places, and for a few sweet hours, were in a Champions League qualification spot. Still, it's early days.

I'm not in for long today - a union negotiation meeting this afternoon, then home to pack all my polyester clothing for 5 days at the UK School Games, which start on Friday. I get to go down tomorrow and the athletes arrive later. It's going to be exhausting, challenging and enormous fun. I'll try to post sometimes, but if it's anything like last year, the day starts at 6 a.m. and finishes at 2 a.m. so I may not be too coherent. It's a whole week off swimming too, which isn't good for my shapeliness.