Getting Back

10 Wednesday Jan 2024

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I treated myself to a copy of Peter Jackson’s film about The Beatles, Get Back, and I have to say that it was well worth the money.

Jackson had taken all the film footage and audio tapes from The Beatles experiment in filming the production of a new album, and rehashed it all to make a new film. It wasn’t the most successful of artistic endeavours when it was conceived in 1969, but there was an album and a film made back then, famously called Let It Be, and of course it spawned what turned out to be The Beatles last live performance together.

So what did Jackson do to make this film better than the original? Well, he used a whole lot more of the film footage, his film is very long, and he was somewhat more sympathetic in his treatment of the obvious cracks that were appearing within The Beatles group. He also used the opportunity to highlight The Beatles at their creative best, albeit that it was during quite a brief period, and their ability to churn out a seriously good live performance with seemingly little effort.

The original concept of putting the boys in an empty film studio to practice their songs for a new album was flawed from the outset, largely because I don’t think the group was consulted. The acoustics were terrible, there was no PA system for them to hear what they sounded like, and there was no means to record anything. When they abandoned the film studio for the recording studio in their Apple Corps HQ in London, where they had everything they really needed, the creativity really took off.

Jackson also ably described the reasons George Harrison walked out, and what the others did to get him back again. For lots of reasons, the balance of the group had been changing, and McCartney was assuming a dominant role. When he and Lennon were forced to look at why Harrison had left, they realised that the group had lost its equilibrium and they needed to restore it, if only to get the project finished. In coaxing Harrison back, and promising to address the issues of equal input, the group found its best again and produced some absolutely amazing work, and in a very short time. To watch the process when it was functioning well was really quite astounding, and there was a real glimpse into why The Beatles were so successful.

The culmination of the project, and not what was originally planned, was that famous last performance on the roof of their building in London’s Saville Row. It was a good performance by anyone’s standards, but to see how they arrived at it, with two of them not committing to do it until the morning of the performance, was awe inspiring. As The Beatles they did all get to the roof, and they did some great numbers in the cold of a January afternoon, proving just why they had been so great. The people in the street who heard the music thought it was great, or most of them did, and the Police looked embarrassed at having to call a halt to the performance after some complaints about the noise. All in all, though, it was a great way for The Beatles to sign off.

The film also pointed to the direction that the four individual Beatles were heading when The Beatles were no more. I for one came away thinking that the group’s breakup was almost inevitable, and that it wasn’t a bad thing. Of course we have lost two of the group now, and the other two really should think of retiring. Whatever may have happened, though, if you’re a fan of The Beatles, or even just a lover of pop music, I’d highly recommend this film, but make sure you’re sitting comfortably first.

New Year Blahs

28 Thursday Dec 2023

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I have never been one to celebrate the New Year. I certainly give the due amount of thought to the past year, and for the year to come, but having a party hasn’t really been my thing. I mean, one minute it’s 1159, the next it’s 0000, and it’s no big deal.

I have been to New Years’ parties, but then the feeling of anti-climax has been doubly strong when people whoop and holler at the appointed hour, and then it’s all over. As I said, it’s not for me.

Moving across the Atlantic, I’ve found that the sense of anti-climax is actually worse here. Quite often bars and pubs don’t open at all on New Year’s Eve, preferring to let their staff have the time with their families. I do get that, but I’m used to pubs staying open for the whole evening, and into the wee small hours. Indeed, so popular are pubs on New Years Eve in the UK that they often have to issue tickets so that the regulars get a look in.

Times Square 2010 – an advertiser’s dream

Then there’s the awful “celebration” in New York’s Times Square that has long been lost to the people who want to make money from the occasion. I understand the ball drop, but the lead up to it with pop singers of the day miming to their latest release an a cold outdoor stage, interspersed with inane chatter from a couple of TV “Hosts” and a plethora of “stars”, it’s all just so painful. Perhaps the most awful aspect is that once that ball has dropped, everyone goes home! Twenty past the hour and Times Square is deserted. Contrast that with Trafalgar Square in London, where the party really only gets started at midnight, and goes on for hours, with Transport for London providing free buses and Underground services for when you do decide to head home.

Trafalgar Square – a distinct lack of advertising

It’s all academic of course, at least for me. It is the start of a new year and with that comes a degree of optimism (like it couldn’t be any worse than last year?), and the days are getting longer, but I can think of better things to celebrate. Or not, because I’m a miserable bugger.

Midwinter

26 Tuesday Dec 2023

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Living in the Northern Hemisphere, as I have done all my life, I’ve become used to celebrating the midwinter in December. Of course, those annoying Christians hijacked my lovely Pagan rituals and made it all about them, but I fought back a little this year.

With a three-year-old in the house, we’re never going to escape Christmas completely, but we have been working on moving the emphasis away from a rotund fellow in a red suit who is linked to the virgin birth, and looked at the Solstice, the real midwinter. Just writing that down, I realise that there will be lots of people telling me that winter starts on December 21st, but that’s a modern construct and I think more tied into how shops stock themselves with seasonal items rather than anything to do with the rotation of the Earth and the Sun. The Solstice is when things begin and end, and I’m happy to celebrate it.

In less enlightened times, people went to bed when it got dark, and rose again with the sun. The Solstice for them was a key point in the year. They celebrated by trying to light things up, to chase away the darkness, and that’s what we did. White lights on a green tree, natural decorations made of pine cones and evergreen tree cuttings. We made lanterns and walked the dark streets, banishing the darkness and looking forward to longer and more productive days. It felt good, too.

Of course Christmas, with its ideal of family and gift giving, is not to be forgotten. Christians venerate the day, and non-Christians hang onto the good bits of the story, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But it was good to go back to earlier times, to more natural thoughts, at this time of year.

The one thing we lacked in the celebration of this Northern Hemisphere midwinter was some cold weather. It’s been very, very mild. Maybe next year.

Twitter is now my X

20 Wednesday Dec 2023

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I’ve never been much of a fan of Twitter, but seeing that so many influential people (as opposed to the pond scum known as “Internet Influencers”) like to put their thoughts out there on a daily basis, I thought I’d have a go.

I am left-leaning politically, maybe physically as well, I don’t know, so I have “Followed” some people who I think I might find tolerable. Among them Jo Biden and Kamala Harris in the US, and Justin Trudeau, Jagmeet Singh and Christia Freeland in Canada. All are centrists with a lean to the left, at least compared to the populists who occupy the news media these days.

People I don’t follow include Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor-Green in the US, and Pierre Poilievre and Marissa Lantsman in Canada, because they are all of that populist rightwing political genre mentioned above. It’s not that I don’t want to see stuff from them occasionally, but I don’t want my daily feed full of their nonsense.

Over the past three months I have had no posts at all come up on my feed from the politically friendly accounts I chose to follow. Not one. I go and look for their feeds and they’re churning tweets out daily. Hmmmm.

Over those same three months I have had daily tweets from all the people I don’t follow, all of whom have descended to the grotesque depths that Trump and Poilievre have been reaching into. I get updates from spineless fools like Ted Cruz, the Trump children, Mike Johnson, Dan Bongino and a host of other scurrilous US Trump apologists. From Canada I get Poilievre, Lantsman and even the vile trash that is the Toronto Sun. None of these accounts are people I follow.

I have resorted to blocking the worst of them because it’s the only way I can stop the flood. Are they replaced with tweets from people I actually follow? No, of course not, because now I get posts from other right-wing populists, all of whom I wouldn’t follow on Twitter in a month of Sundays.

If you’re ever in doubt that Elon Musk has seriously skewed the Twitter algorithms in favour of his favoured political stance, try it yourself, but be prepared for some awful, awful content.

I still dip into Twitter occasionally, search out people I follow (following is meaningless unless Elon approves, of course), and daily block more right-wing loons. Ah well, there are still the tweets from Canada’s foremost Trucking account to see, and I could watch bad driving videos all day.

Attack of the Killer Vans

14 Thursday Dec 2023

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I started up my daily walk routine again, and in an effort to avoid walking alongside busy roads, and to avoid crossing those busy roads too often, I tend to pound the residential streets close by. It’s boring, for sure, but I don’t need to get into the car at all, and I have an audiobook playing through my ear buds to keep my mind occupied.

The streets I use are quiet. I can walk hundreds of metres and not see a moving vehicle, except that is, when I want to cross one of those quiet streets.

Some days it seems like they lie in wait, and pounce when I position myself to leave the sidewalk. Like a London bus, you don’t see a moving vehicle for ages, then they appear, usually in packs. Today was one of those days, except that it was delivery trucks following me around. It was UPS and FedEx, and while I imagined fleets of those vans roaming the streets, because I walk in a fairly small area, it’s likely that it was the same UPS and the same FedEx van each time.

They have a job to do, and I don’t, so I’m not complaining about their presence, just that they only appear when I have to cross a road.

I just hope that none of these vehicles is called Christine…

Telephones

09 Saturday Dec 2023

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I stand alone in the world of the telephone. Or so it appears.

I find the idea of people calling me at their convenience a total imposition. I routinely ignore calls, regardless of who is calling, simply because it’s not convenient for me to answer. My sense of annoyance is multiplied ten-fold when it’s a telemarketer.

Don’t get me started on people who stay on a cell phone call when they’re having their groceries scanned by the clerk.

The huge hole in my argument, of course, is that I have a (sort of) landline, and a cell phone.

I don’t often make calls myself, though, and will usually communicate by text. Texts are the ultimate in convenience communication as they may be read, or not, by the recipient, but I never expect a reply, at least not until it’s a good time for them to reply, and that may be never.

I was trying to discover the source of my telephone antipathy, and traced it back to (perhaps) someone I once worked for. He would break off any conversation, without a word, to answer a ringing phone. I could not count the number of key conversations relating to work that were instantly lost because his phone took priority over everything. Then there was another boss, getting mad at me for not answering my cell phone to him when I’m instructing a new driver, on the road, while they’re new to a very large chunk of metal travelling at speed. I know who I would rather pay attention to in that situation.

I am, as you will have guessed, a cantankerous old fart, who is getting more contrary by the day. If you have any issue with that, drop me a text to let me know.

P.S. This diatribe isn’t to be taken too seriously.

In Continuing Praise of The Beatles

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

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In just a few days It’ll be forty-three years since John Lennon was murdered. Yes, I can remember exactly where I was when I heard the awful news.

I was born early enough to remember the early Beatles singles hitting the charts, but too young to be out buying records or going to concerts. I was only eleven when they broke up, and yet they form an indelible mark on my life, and I listen to their music regularly. Indeed, with the advent of YouTube I have been able to enjoy recordings of them playing live, and in adulthood have really come to appreciate the energy those young men put into their work. But then I’m an old fart, so you’d expect it perhaps.

I am amazed, though, how my step children, and my three-year-old grandson, are similarly smitten with the music that was created decades before their birth. The three-year-old can name each of the Beatles when he sees them on TV.

Oddly, I don’t think you can’t blame me or their mother for the youngsters’ enjoyment because they picked up their interests from their peers, not us. What is it that makes teenagers today not only take the time to listen to The Beatles, but actually buy their music, and listen to it repeatedly? I’m darned if I know, other than for the fact that The Beatles were the right people at the right time.

As for us old farts, well I listened to the entire Sergeant Pepper album while I was tidying up, just a few days ago. It’s timeless, and I knew all the words to all the songs, and yet I found myself reexamining the lyrics to Within You Without You and marvelling and how good they are. See, they still move me.

We visited Liverpool a couple of weeks ago and were just very slightly wrong-footed at the continued commercialisation of the Beatles story. That didn’t stop us taking Beatle photographs and buying Beatle gewgaws, though, us and many others. It’s an oft used cliché, but what a time to be alive.

On Friday I will give the great John Lennon some extra respect, listen to some of his work and continue to be amazed at just how good he and his friends were to have endured like this.

I am not a plumber

05 Tuesday Dec 2023

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Today I fitted a new tap, or faucet, to our laundry room sink. The old, very cheap Home Depot offering had snapped off at its plastic base, so this slightly more expensive model is at least metal.

I only mention this because while I’m a passable DIYer, I am no plumber.

But this tap should have been easy to install. The existing water lines had been finished off with isolator valves so surely it was just a case of joining everything up? Well, it was, only the manufacturer made a simple job quite difficult.

There is a sleeve that fastens the tap to the sink, through which you have to pass all the water lines. Hot and cold, obviously, then the one that extends, that you have to part in order to fit the tap, so that’s four lines, and it’s a tight fit. However, the extending line has a quick release valve on it, the component that allows you to part the line, and it was so big that it had to be first line through the sleeve. The problem was that while the extending line was really long, the connection was on a short line, which meant having to push the lines through the sleeve while working behind the bowl of the sink. I looked at the instructions and of course the installation was demonstrated with a sink that was free of any walls. If only the quick release valve had been on the longer line.

Anyway, the job was completed and so far without any leaks. I even managed to connect hot to hot and cold to cold, despite the feed lines not being marked. The tap’s spray head gives out a groovy net-like spray, too, so it was worth all the effort. I’m not sure when my hands and fingers are going to forgive me, though.

Grave Thoughts

03 Sunday Dec 2023

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One of our reasons for going back to the UK recently was to look up some Mayne family tree things, chief among them the last resting places of some of my relatives.

We visited three cemeteries in Leeds, all of which held the last mortal remains of a few of my direct ancestors. We started with Lawnswood, still very much a cemetery in use, and found my grandparents’ grave marker, as well as the grave of a Great-Uncle and his family. I didn’t know either of my Grandparents as they both died before I was born, but it was an interesting thing to do anyway.

Then we visited Beckett Street Cemetery (formerly known as Burmantofts), opposite the famous St. James’ Infirmary (sometimes known as Jimmy’s). Beckett Street was one of the big public cemeteries built in the nineteenth century to cope with the dead of a rapidly expanding population of Leeds. This cemetery is closed for new burials and is in a bit of an overgrown state, now that Leeds City Council have disowned it. The thing is that it is a wonderful place and absolutely stuffed full of Victorian grave markers and monuments. We didn’t have too long to look around but it would be a fantastic place to spend a day exploring. We found two more grave markers with my ancestors names inscribed upon them, which was excellent.

Beckett Street Cemetery

After that we visited the site of the old Leeds General Cemetery, now a park in the grounds of the university. Most of the marker stones have been cleared and the walled space is a wonderfully quiet place to visit. Some of the grave markers have been laid down to act as footpaths, but we didn’t find one with any of my family’s names one them, despite there being at least twenty of my ancestors recorded as having been buried there.

The former Leeds General Cemetery at St. George’s Field

We missed a few churches in Leeds where my ancestors lie, but the cemeteries were certainly worth us visiting.

Later on in the trip, we walked through Brompton Cemetery in west London and managed to find the family plot for yet another of my ancestors. Brompton is still in use and is run by the Royal Parks organisation. It’s the final resting place of a fair few famous people, and while the family plot we found was certainly quite grand, I don’t think the people laid to rest there count as famous. I have been past Brompton Cemetery many times, but I never knew of the family connection. I have no doubt that a bit more research would have me discover a few more graves in London, but I’d need months to look around them all.

The plot in Brompton Cemetery, London.

Cemeteries are such fascinating places to mooch around it, and there’s an added interest when you see your family name on the stones.

Next year it will be Huntington, Indiana, and it’s environs, as there are a whole heap of Mayne graves to find there.

Curmudgeon is my Middle Name

02 Saturday Dec 2023

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I’m famed for not much liking Christmas. I’m not religious, so while I understand the relevance of the event to Christians, it’s the seven or eight weeks commercial mayhem leading up to Christmas Day that bothers me. And the pre-Christmas shenanigans start earlier every year.

When I was a kid, Christmas was a time for presents, coloured lights and interminable church services. My mum refused to put a Christmas tree up until about a week before the day, and she didn’t really fully decorate the house until Christmas Eve, normally when the rest of us had gone to church. Then the decorations stayed up until Twelfth Night, by which time we were heartily sick of them. As time went by, people in the UK seemed to have adopted December 1st as decorating day, far too early in my view, but less than a month, and they’ll normally come down on January 1st, not quite Twelfth Night, but a natural time to bring them in.

Arriving in Canada, I was appalled to see for some that Christmas started on November 1st. Most, though, held out until after Remembrance Day on November 11th, which is absolutely a good thing to do. The reason offered by people of my acquaintance was that the weather can get a bit squirrelly in December, so external stuff has to go out earlier. The other shocker was that people with take their decorations down, sometimes, on Boxing Day. Gasp! Mind you, when they’ve been up six or seven weeks, they are beginning to lose their appeal.

In the UK in mid-November this year, I noticed a lot of people were already hauling out the decorations. I guess they’re following the lead of the shops, most of whom start Christmas in October. I did hear people say it was a way of cheering up folk as the nights draw in and the weather worsens, and that is understandable, and it leads us back to why Christmas is celebrated at all. The Christians hijacked many older mid-winter festivals which had been established exactly to mark the shortness of the day and the change to the days getting longer again. I still say that weeks ahead is too early, but the real reason for celebration in mid-December goes much further back than the upstart newcomer Christian festival.

Not quite how we do it, but you get the idea…

Because we have a toddler in the house, we’re not going to get away without at least some Christmas festivities. But we’ve decided to go educational and we’re having two sets of decorations. one for Christmas, coloured lights and all, and the other to celebrate the Solstice. The mid-winter tree has just white lights, and we’ve brought greenery into the house, all those lovely Pagan ideas about banishing the dark, and seeking the green shoots of renewal. I’d love a big Yule log, burning for a week, but I’m not sure the Fire Department would be too happy about that. Hopefully, though, young Charlie will grow up with an idea of why we do what we do in December, and not just see a big fellow in a red suit dishing our presents.