Archives » 2010 » January

Manchester City 2-1 Manchester United

City of Manchester Stadium, 19/1/10

Carling Cup, Semi-final, first leg.

This is what you’re reduced to when the weather puts off match after match and you’re feeling withdrawal symptoms. (I would have been at Brechin on Saturday to assuage those but the thaw and heavy rain put paid to that.)

It was one of those games that starts with one team so on top, scoring, you think that there’s only one winner. Then of course, they lose.

Despite the commentators’ and pundits’ attempts to talk it up the match was turgid. City did little in the way of attacking and United had no cutting edge. It only really brightened up in the last ten minutes when United began to show interest. Wayne Rooney is a player, though.

It’s nice to know English refs are as error prone as ours.

(Actually it’s not. It’s depressing. It means there’s no hope of improvement.)

Sad Loss

Two losses today. One is provisional but will most likely go through and that is the takeover of Cadbury by Kraft. This can only presage “restructuring” and job losses. Cadbury was one of the original good employers, renowned for treating its employees with consideration, actively looking out for their welfare. This arose from the Quaker traditions of the company’s founders. I can’t see much of that ethos surviving under Kraft.

Also, if the takeover is finalised can reformulation of Cadbury products using cheaper ingredients be far behind?

The other loss is irrevocable and struck me more personally. It is the death of Rugby Union commentator Bill McLaren. For many of my age he was – and remains – the voice of Rugby Union. His knowledge and enthusiasm for the game shone through every comment and his impartiality was impressive.

Rugby Union has never felt the same without him behind the microphone. I sometimes wondered how he felt about the modern professional era as, to me, it seems more soulless than in his commentating heyday.

Cadbury’s, 1824-2010.

William Pollock McLaren, 16/10/1923-19/1/2010.

So it goes.

Russell T Davies

It seems I may have done Russell T something of a disservice. According to the comments in a blog which I frequent, the dialogue for the new Doctor’s scene was actually scripted by Steven Moffat, the new overall supremo for the series.

Also the line, “And still not ginger,” seems to be a reference to one of David Tennant’s first utterances in the role. I had forgotten he was given that to say but now I’ve been reminded I do vaguely recollect it. As I recall now, Tennant said it in a regretful tone, though, which I did not think Matt Smith did.

For me, the new doctor has got off on the wrong foot.

No Longer A Gap In The Mercat

Well, not that one anyway.

The Woolies store in Kirkcaldy was L-shaped. The back part was the first to be taken over: by clothes retailer Peacocks – now looking like they’re in administration themselves what with the 70% off signs for their January sales. They moved in a few months ago.

peacocks

Relatively recently the other part of the Woolies shop – which had originally been a Tesco’s before they took over William Low’s and moved their operation to the Low’s site in the Postings shopping area – morphed into something called Home Bargains, which is best described as Woolies with added food.

home bargains

The half-price sale sign on the right edge of the picture is actually for a JJB Sports shop which is up some stairs and in which I’ve not set foot.

The Mercat is an indoor mall, hence the darkness of the photos, taken as they were around 5pm on a winter’s evening.

Edited to add:- Peacock’s isn’t in administration, just having a sale.

The Sacred Art Of Stealing by Christopher Brookmyre

Little, Brown, 2002, 419p

This is another novel featuring Detective Inspector Angelique De Xavia, who appeared in A Big Boy Did It And Ran Away (see my review here.)

Its prologue was faintly annoying as Brookmyre seemed to be indulging in explicitness merely for the sake of it. Moreover, when the book proper unfolds it is apparent that its chronology and the bulk of the narrative don’t quite fit. However, the main story as it progresses is engaging and the complex plot is revealed at just the right pace.

Brookmyre’s signature blending of humour with crime is again a key component. The set up, here, involves a bank robbery carried out by a gang dressed as clowns, or rather as one member of The Sensational Alex Harvey Band. The robbers are at pains to make sure the hostages they have taken (which include De Xavia after she infiltrates the building and is captured) are put at ease; their leader insisting they are not the bad guys.

The character of DI Di Xavia does not convince as it did in A Big Boy Did It And Ran Away as, here, she enters into a, quite frankly, unbelievable relationship. But, for plot purposes, she must. Brookmyre’s touch lets him down with this but the book is never less than readable; at times laugh, or at least chuckle, out loud funny and the plot is well worked out.

It was also refreshing to read a depiction of members of the criminal fraternity who were not unremittingly ill intentioned – though, of course the real baddies in the book are.

Haiti

The earthquake in Haiti is a human tragedy. Not just for those killed outright, or perhaps lingeringly under the rubble, but also for the survivors who now have no homes, no shelter, no food and are waiting for help to arrive.

It also shows the fragility of city life.

With houses and hospitals demolished, a multitude of roads blocked, electricity and other networks severed, the rescuers’ difficulties are profound. The possibility exists that even if food, medicines, blankets, tents etc arrive in good time there is no way to distribute them effectively – even with the best will in the world.

I am lucky to live in a country where such disasters do not occur.

The West Wing, Series 1

2002-2003.

This wasn’t a Christmas present but a loan from our not-quite-daughter-in-law. (It seems a bit ridiculous to call her our son’s girlfriend as they’ve been together for years and she’s now a grown woman rather than a teenager. Plus she feels like part of the family.)

The West Wing is slick and fast moving entertainment, well acted and engaging. However, watching the episodes in close succession probably shows up the flaws more than its designed weekly exposure would.

From a story telling perspective I noted the ever more inventive stratagems for dumping information on the viewer, most of which in written fiction would be regarded as clumsy.

[The British equivalent, Yes, Minister, got round this problem by assuming the Minister was ignorant – which is not unwarranted; Her Majesty’s Secretaries of States’ average time in post is measured in months rather than years; leaving them just enough time to muck things up before moving on to a new Department, where again they have to learn the ropes from scratch. US presidents – we shall ignore here Reagan, the second Bush and Calvin Coolidge – and their staffs are generally thought to be more rounded, however.]

In The West Wing, though, characters claim lack of knowledge so that they (and we) can be lectured. Strange enthusiasms are adumbrated. At a Town Hall meeting events inside the West Wing are related. (Don’t they have an Official Secrets Act?) We also have people acting in ways they surely would not, or having relationships that are unlikely solely for the purposes of story (arc.)

The series is, of course, revealing of the political system in the US – which undoubtedly has its strangenesses. At one point a husband seemed to have inherited his deceased wife’s place in Congress – at least until an impending election. In a close situation his was the crucial vote! If that’s what does happen when a Congressperson dies it’s a bizarre arrangement.

The programme is above all, though, an exercise in allowing Americans to feel good about themselves, which can be a bit off-putting. (There may be better angels in their nature but they quite often keep them hidden.)

The cliff hanger ending to the first series was a blow.

It means I’ll have to watch series 2, now.

Though I would have anyway.

Homeward Bound by Harry Turtledove

Hodder and Stoughton, 2005, 597p.

This is really Colonisation:4. Many of the “characters” from the Colonisation series reappear here.

This is the book, though, where we finally get to see the Lizards’ original world, Home. A US starship, with the aid of cold sleep technology adapted from that of the Lizards’ has been sent there to try to negotiate a basis of equality with them.

There are some sly asides about the US Ambassador to Home, referred to solely as the Doctor, who can only be meant to be Henry Kissinger. Unfortunately he does not wake up from the cold sleep necessary for the transit so one of our previous Colonisation acquaintances is pitched into the ambassadorial role. Also a character named Nicole Nichols is surely a nod to the communications officer of the original Star Trek.

There was one typo I thought was brilliant. “Buildings gradually got farther and father apart.”

Homeward Bound is an effortless, light read. Turtledove’s narrative goes down smoothly, as it always does, but the characterisation is still weak and repetition of information and attitudes far too frequent. He leaves open the possibility of yet more sequels.

Bluenoses

Christopher Brookmyre, one of whose books I am reading just now, says he has been a Buddy since 1976. Given that, I found it a little surprising that the novel contains an extended riff on the vicissitudes of being a Rangers fan (otherwise known as Bluenoses, Teddy Bears or – by the uncharitable – Huns.)

Like they would know anything about the trials and tribulations of being a football supporter. When was the last time they went decades without winning anything? When were they ever in danger of relegation; or suffered such a fate? Their only contact point with the perennial disappointment of being a fan is in the European arena – and even there they mostly refuse to acknowledge the fact that they usually punch above their weight.

Brookmyre gives himself the best excuse by making his main character a season ticket holder at Ibrox. Perhaps making her a St Mirren supporter would have been too much of an exposure of private grief. And it does give him the opportunity to lampoon the less analytical supporters of both of Glasgow’s ugly football sisters.

But did he perhaps fear the book’s sales would be smaller if he’d made her a fan of a wee team?

Thaw?

I came downstairs yesterday morning to a sparser covering of snow in the garden and streets almost clear of snow and ice.

Despite some patches of overlying water that had not been there on Saturday the pond in the park was still almost compleletely frozen, though, and skaters and hockeyists were still plying their skills.

This may not be true for much longer.

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