I realise the irony of this, given the name of the blog, but I haven't been inspired to write anything. In a couple of cases, I dipped my toe into the water, but the post ran out of steam, and now they sit, unfinished and sulking on my blog dashboard.
I shall endeavour to write about something every day, it's not like I don't have opinions about absolutely everything, it's just a question of writing it all down. Damn my laziness.
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Monday, 19 October 2009
Back to Bexleyheath
I found myself at a loose end this weekend, with 4 long hours to kill between dropping my wife off for a rehearsal, and hearing her perform in a concert later that night. As the concert was close by, it seemed the perfect opportunity to re-visit Bexleyheath.
During my teenage years, I went through Bexleyheath twice every day, on my way to and from school. As such, it does hold a little place in my heart: the many hours that I stood waiting at bus stops with friends, telling all kinds of lies about how far we had got with members of the opposite sex; the scrums to get on every bus, with old ladies tutting as boys and girls shoved each other in a desperate race to nab the best seats on the bus; fireworks being let off at bus stops, and on one memorable event, on the top of a 132; evading the security guards in the Broadway for as long as possible after closing time; watching form afar as someone dumped a load of bubble bath into the fountain by the clocktower. All of these rites of passage, of young dumb kids with nothing else better to do, are indelibly marked on my memory. But mostly I remember the seemingly eternal boredom of waiting for buses.
My return seemed to herald the first day of winter, as a cold biting wind whipped across and into me, buffeting my spirits and good cheer. I pulled my jacket tighter, and pressed on, past the laughing buddha and Asda, but the town centre seemed to echo my despondancy, looking miserable and grey. This wasn't just a reflection of the weather, but of the prevailing recessionary gloom: many of the shops had closed down, and the ones that were left looked bedraggled and worn out.
The Bexleyheath of my youth, despite there being not much to do, seemed like a town where something new was always being put up or renovated: a pedestrianised section here, a supermarket there, a new cinema and resturant complex here. Now though, it has a melancholic air: as if it's quest for constant renovation had tired it out. Resignation to its fate permeated the maudlin concrete structure of the Broadway: a realisation that such a pursuit of excellence was doomed to failure with the behemoth Bluewater on it's doorstep.
It also seemed much smaller than I remember. One Saturday, I refused to walk from one end of the Broadway to the other, because I felt it was too far. And possibly also to spite my friend, who only wanted us to walk back again in a fruitless pursuit of a girl. I distinctly remember one end of the broadway seeming like an impossible distance to travel, with so many different shops offering so many different things to the explorer intrepid enough to venture it's whole length. You'd be lucky if you didn't get lost in such a huge jungle. No such dangers on Saturday, as it only took me a couple of minutes to walk the entire length of the Broadway.
It was diffifult to know whether my horizons had grown, or whether Bexleyheath's had shrunk, but the afternoon was an intensely depressing experience. I am glad that I have moved away and moved on, and this was a transitory experience, rather than a common way to fill a weekend.
During my teenage years, I went through Bexleyheath twice every day, on my way to and from school. As such, it does hold a little place in my heart: the many hours that I stood waiting at bus stops with friends, telling all kinds of lies about how far we had got with members of the opposite sex; the scrums to get on every bus, with old ladies tutting as boys and girls shoved each other in a desperate race to nab the best seats on the bus; fireworks being let off at bus stops, and on one memorable event, on the top of a 132; evading the security guards in the Broadway for as long as possible after closing time; watching form afar as someone dumped a load of bubble bath into the fountain by the clocktower. All of these rites of passage, of young dumb kids with nothing else better to do, are indelibly marked on my memory. But mostly I remember the seemingly eternal boredom of waiting for buses.
My return seemed to herald the first day of winter, as a cold biting wind whipped across and into me, buffeting my spirits and good cheer. I pulled my jacket tighter, and pressed on, past the laughing buddha and Asda, but the town centre seemed to echo my despondancy, looking miserable and grey. This wasn't just a reflection of the weather, but of the prevailing recessionary gloom: many of the shops had closed down, and the ones that were left looked bedraggled and worn out.
The Bexleyheath of my youth, despite there being not much to do, seemed like a town where something new was always being put up or renovated: a pedestrianised section here, a supermarket there, a new cinema and resturant complex here. Now though, it has a melancholic air: as if it's quest for constant renovation had tired it out. Resignation to its fate permeated the maudlin concrete structure of the Broadway: a realisation that such a pursuit of excellence was doomed to failure with the behemoth Bluewater on it's doorstep.
It also seemed much smaller than I remember. One Saturday, I refused to walk from one end of the Broadway to the other, because I felt it was too far. And possibly also to spite my friend, who only wanted us to walk back again in a fruitless pursuit of a girl. I distinctly remember one end of the broadway seeming like an impossible distance to travel, with so many different shops offering so many different things to the explorer intrepid enough to venture it's whole length. You'd be lucky if you didn't get lost in such a huge jungle. No such dangers on Saturday, as it only took me a couple of minutes to walk the entire length of the Broadway.
It was diffifult to know whether my horizons had grown, or whether Bexleyheath's had shrunk, but the afternoon was an intensely depressing experience. I am glad that I have moved away and moved on, and this was a transitory experience, rather than a common way to fill a weekend.
Friday, 25 September 2009
footballers, divers, and the archer's bow
An interesting study has just been published by the University of Portsmouth, which researched the ability to determine when footballers dive, or when they are legitimately fouled.
They asked a group of people to watch a set of videos of football games, and say which tackles they thought were dives, and which were legitimate falls from tackles. By analysing the results, there was agreement from the participants on the result: a significant amount agreed on which were dives, which were real, and which ones they couldn't be sure of.
The boffins then analysed the dives, and came up with 4 points of similarity on them, but it's down to biomechanics: the histrionics of the diver are actually a give-away, because their body acts in completely the opposite way to how you would expect it to behave in natural circumstances.
They asked a group of people to watch a set of videos of football games, and say which tackles they thought were dives, and which were legitimate falls from tackles. By analysing the results, there was agreement from the participants on the result: a significant amount agreed on which were dives, which were real, and which ones they couldn't be sure of.
The boffins then analysed the dives, and came up with 4 points of similarity on them, but it's down to biomechanics: the histrionics of the diver are actually a give-away, because their body acts in completely the opposite way to how you would expect it to behave in natural circumstances.
The tackled player will put their arms back, often they will put them back behind their head, the legs will go up behind their bodies, their chest is stuck out and often their head will go back.The researches called this an Archer's bow, because: "people are bowed back like in a bow and arrow." They then set up a 2nd study, where some footballers were told to dive, and some were told not to dive, but to only fall under a fair tackle: they then showed them to the group, which got them right:
What is interesting about that particular behaviour is that you don't witness that in actual natural falls. If you are losing your balance you put your hands on either side to try to regain your balance.
Biomechanically people don't stick their hands above them in the air when they are falling over. This just doesn't happen
What we found was there was a perfect correspondence between the instructions to the diving or the non-diving player and the perceiver. So taking those two studies together we could show there was consistency and also there was accuracy.
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Borough market in danger from rail expansion
Borough market is apparently in danger of closing, as the much-mooted rail expansion plans eventually start. A new railway bridge will mean that a considerable chunk of market space will be lost forever.
The fear is that what will be left is a Borough Market-Lite: with all the good and interesting stalls which made it such a great stop off point, priced out of the place, to be replaced by organic lifestyle-branded companies.
I think that would be a great shame, although it's already happening to a certain extent - the first time that I went there, it was already set up as a "foodie" mecca, which had lots of little interesting stalls, replete with goodies that tempted the taste buds. The temptation is still there, but the little stalls seem to have been squeezed out to a certain degree. I think the main difference is that I caught it just as it had turned into this foodie mecca, so the stalls there were doing it as the end result of their labour: now a lot of the time it seems that their stall is the beginning of the process: trying to get a brand going, get noticed at Borough market, sell the concept to an investment company, get the brand into a supermarket.
It has also noticeably turned into a (posher) fast food court: near enough every stall is churning out a variation on meat and bread (or veggie burger and bread) or something similar. The original reason for going now seems almost incidental to buying a burger or sausage. Yes, the meat may be of a higher quality, but essentially it feels like a place to get a quick (but expensive) bite to eat, and possibly also buy some raw ingredients while you are there.
I will still go, and it will be interesting to see what happens, but the food on sale there can increasingly be sourced from elsewhere, and it is still very expensive: the food will always be for a rare treat, or a special supper, rather than somewhere I buy all my food from.
The fear is that what will be left is a Borough Market-Lite: with all the good and interesting stalls which made it such a great stop off point, priced out of the place, to be replaced by organic lifestyle-branded companies.
I think that would be a great shame, although it's already happening to a certain extent - the first time that I went there, it was already set up as a "foodie" mecca, which had lots of little interesting stalls, replete with goodies that tempted the taste buds. The temptation is still there, but the little stalls seem to have been squeezed out to a certain degree. I think the main difference is that I caught it just as it had turned into this foodie mecca, so the stalls there were doing it as the end result of their labour: now a lot of the time it seems that their stall is the beginning of the process: trying to get a brand going, get noticed at Borough market, sell the concept to an investment company, get the brand into a supermarket.
It has also noticeably turned into a (posher) fast food court: near enough every stall is churning out a variation on meat and bread (or veggie burger and bread) or something similar. The original reason for going now seems almost incidental to buying a burger or sausage. Yes, the meat may be of a higher quality, but essentially it feels like a place to get a quick (but expensive) bite to eat, and possibly also buy some raw ingredients while you are there.
I will still go, and it will be interesting to see what happens, but the food on sale there can increasingly be sourced from elsewhere, and it is still very expensive: the food will always be for a rare treat, or a special supper, rather than somewhere I buy all my food from.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
The Manager: Guardian podcast about football managers
Just in case you are interested, the Guardian ran a great podcast series about the history of the football manager, which has just finished. You can catch up with it here.
It charts the rise of the football manager in the 1930's, through the 60's, 70's and into the present day, presenting a long-term view of how the role has changed, and how it might further change in the future.
It's quite interesting from the perspective at looking at the archtypes of the modern manager, and how some have faded away and some have changed and adapted to the modern game.
It charts the rise of the football manager in the 1930's, through the 60's, 70's and into the present day, presenting a long-term view of how the role has changed, and how it might further change in the future.
It's quite interesting from the perspective at looking at the archtypes of the modern manager, and how some have faded away and some have changed and adapted to the modern game.
Friday, 4 September 2009
[500] days of summer
The unique selling point of this film is that it is different from normal romantic comedies, and this is true of the plot at least, but I have my doubts that the conclusions that it draws about the nature of love and relationships are any different from a typical Hollywood romance comedy.
The film deals with the end of a relationship - and not in the nuclear, all-guns blazing breakdown way, but in the more usual way that relationships end - one person realises that they don't feel the same as the other person, and lets that other person down as gently as possible. The central conceit of the film is that it flips between the different days of the relationship, so that you view the end of the break-up and the beginning of the relationship at the same time. This stops the film from becoming either too depressing or too mawkish.
I think it does a very good job of detailing both parts of the relationship really well - the little looks, flirting and anticipation before you know that the other person likes you back are well-observed, as is how much significance you put onto every conversation when you are first getting to know someone. The film communicates the sheer joy of falling in love and starting a new relationship incredibly well.
It does the same at the denouement: when Summer ends the relationship, the mundanity and calmness of the act also rings true - it ends not with a bang, but with a whimper: a matter of fact resolution that leaves Tom, the main character of the piece, confused and alone, and seeking answers as to why it happened.
The dichotomy of the film - between the hope of a new relationship and the despair at it's end - is best shown in a middle section of the film, where a split-screen camera (one side captioned Expectations, and one captioned Reality) follows Tom to a party where he hopes to win Summer back. The brutality of the widening gap between the two provides a memorable scene, one that surely everyone would recognise from their own lives at least once.
Despite these well rendered observations though, the film lacks a little something. We learn little about Summer and her motivations, which is a bit odd considering the film is about her. This may be intentional - what we do learn is that she is very much a closed book, and doesn't let people in easily. By the end of the film, Tom is still confused by her motivations and character, and the film I think reflects that. As Summer floats from scene to scene, you never really get the chance to connect with the character, to the detriment of enjoyment of the film.
The end of the film is also jarring - the director and writer spend much of the time demonstrating that fate and love do not exist, and that films and songs reinforce this cliched view of the world. Then, right at the end, it changes its mind and direction, and also follows that cliche to the letter.
Overall, not a bad film, but the lapses into easy cliche and sentimentality, and the lack of any really rounded characters except for Tom, means it lacks a certain something. It won't ever be a film that you absolutely love which, given the subject matter of the film, is really rather fitting.
The film deals with the end of a relationship - and not in the nuclear, all-guns blazing breakdown way, but in the more usual way that relationships end - one person realises that they don't feel the same as the other person, and lets that other person down as gently as possible. The central conceit of the film is that it flips between the different days of the relationship, so that you view the end of the break-up and the beginning of the relationship at the same time. This stops the film from becoming either too depressing or too mawkish.
I think it does a very good job of detailing both parts of the relationship really well - the little looks, flirting and anticipation before you know that the other person likes you back are well-observed, as is how much significance you put onto every conversation when you are first getting to know someone. The film communicates the sheer joy of falling in love and starting a new relationship incredibly well.
It does the same at the denouement: when Summer ends the relationship, the mundanity and calmness of the act also rings true - it ends not with a bang, but with a whimper: a matter of fact resolution that leaves Tom, the main character of the piece, confused and alone, and seeking answers as to why it happened.
The dichotomy of the film - between the hope of a new relationship and the despair at it's end - is best shown in a middle section of the film, where a split-screen camera (one side captioned Expectations, and one captioned Reality) follows Tom to a party where he hopes to win Summer back. The brutality of the widening gap between the two provides a memorable scene, one that surely everyone would recognise from their own lives at least once.
Despite these well rendered observations though, the film lacks a little something. We learn little about Summer and her motivations, which is a bit odd considering the film is about her. This may be intentional - what we do learn is that she is very much a closed book, and doesn't let people in easily. By the end of the film, Tom is still confused by her motivations and character, and the film I think reflects that. As Summer floats from scene to scene, you never really get the chance to connect with the character, to the detriment of enjoyment of the film.
The end of the film is also jarring - the director and writer spend much of the time demonstrating that fate and love do not exist, and that films and songs reinforce this cliched view of the world. Then, right at the end, it changes its mind and direction, and also follows that cliche to the letter.
Overall, not a bad film, but the lapses into easy cliche and sentimentality, and the lack of any really rounded characters except for Tom, means it lacks a certain something. It won't ever be a film that you absolutely love which, given the subject matter of the film, is really rather fitting.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Musings on the first couple of weeks of the football season
The football season has finally arrived, and the Premier League really does look like it's going to be a cracker. I have refrained from talking about it thus far, as you can't really make any kind of hypothesis on how the season will pan out from just one game. Of course, you can hardly do the same from three games, but we have enough information to draw some conclusions.
First of all, Arsenal have looked really good so far: destroying Everton and Portsmouth in the League, and doing the same to Celtic in the Champion's League qualifier. They were also desperately unlucky in the game against Manchester United, who scored from a Wayne Rooney penalty, and an unbelievable own goal from Abou Diaby. These were their only real forays into the Arsenal penalty for the whole game, until the last 10 minutes when Arsenal went in search of an equiliser. I don't think I have ever seen a Manchester United side look so pedestrian and short of ideas in attack, and while they will get better, they are a poor relation compared to last year's vintage.
Liverpool also look very ordinary, while Chelsea look their normal, efficient, surly self. The closest rivals to the top four appear to be Tottenham and Manchester Ciy, both of whom have strengthened considerably over the summer, and will be hard to beat.
First of all, Arsenal have looked really good so far: destroying Everton and Portsmouth in the League, and doing the same to Celtic in the Champion's League qualifier. They were also desperately unlucky in the game against Manchester United, who scored from a Wayne Rooney penalty, and an unbelievable own goal from Abou Diaby. These were their only real forays into the Arsenal penalty for the whole game, until the last 10 minutes when Arsenal went in search of an equiliser. I don't think I have ever seen a Manchester United side look so pedestrian and short of ideas in attack, and while they will get better, they are a poor relation compared to last year's vintage.
Liverpool also look very ordinary, while Chelsea look their normal, efficient, surly self. The closest rivals to the top four appear to be Tottenham and Manchester Ciy, both of whom have strengthened considerably over the summer, and will be hard to beat.
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