Halloween, Schmalloween.

I'm giving it a miss.
This evening I might sit in the dark and listen to Schumann's Geistervariationen (Ghost Variations - written when he was convinced ghosts were taking over his mind, during the writing of which he attempted suicide and then died in an insane asylum … yay fun), but that's about my limit.

The sad news is, we no longer do Halloween here. Or at least we no longer do it right.

A couple of decades back some idiot imported the nastier side of Halloween from across the Pond but never got around to importing the good stuff. We somehow managed to turn "Trick or treat" into gangs of teenagers in cheap Scream masks demanding goods with menaces, terrorising lonely elderly people and plastering the fronts of people's homes with eggs if they don't get what they want. I got that treatment regularly myself when I commuted to London and was unable to get home in time to stop it, and believe me, caked-on egg takes industrial machinery to get out of brickwork.

And yes, you heard me. I said the good stuff. Stop falling over and pretending to faint. I'm actually fessing up to being jealous of the Colonies for doing something right.

If there's anyone from England sneaking in here to read this, just check out Petrea's post from Sunday or Robyn's . I defy you not to go all gooey at these übercute kids from Robyn's Halloween Party  and you simply must go back and watch that wonderful Buffy Halloween episode (series 2, episode 6) to see what we're missing (apart of course from my favourite sexy witch Willow).

Back when I was a kid (around the end of the last ice age), the neighbourhood parents would get together and put on a great time for kids at Halloween. We dressed in old sheets, made paper witches' hats, baked potatoes in bonfires, carved swedes (that's the vegetable, not the people from Sweden) into little jack'o'lanterns (in austerity Britain pumpkins were for the rich) and bobbed for apples and played games while our mums and dads stood around getting quietly plastered and eating themselves silly. Good innocent fun. And nobody went around demanding "trick or treat."

Now all that is gone and I honestly don't know how to get it back. We seem to have had all the fun sucked out of us as a nation since Thatcherism destroyed the last shreds of our decency, Blairism drained us of our souls and Cameron the plastic-faced bankers' buttplug took away our jobs and stole all our money. England is a truly shitty place to live now.

It's been over fifteen years since I last saw a group of cute little kids all dressed up as ghouls and witches, politely knocking on doors and chaperoned by friendly parents (that was the time I asked the biggest kid how many of them there were so I could count out chocolate bars and he counted all the others and forgot to count himself - He looked so crestfallen I had to laugh but I gave him his chocolate anyway).

Now it's just gangs of thuggish kids and drunken teenagers in hoodies wearing cheap, unimaginative plastic masks instead of home-made costumes, sneering "Trick or treat" by which they mean "Give us sweets or money or we'll trash your house."
There's no dressing up, no community spirit, not a pumpkin to be seen in my entire village, no parades or neighburhood parties and definitely no fun. If someone decorated their house and front lawn like the one in Petrea's photo the kids would just destroy it.

For God's sake, America. Come over here and show us how it's done.
Please?

What I Said Yesterday, Only More Of It.

Saturday Statuary - Bastille

The grumpy old bugger is still sulking about the office day trip to Paris getting cancelled. Plus it's foggy and grey and definitely autumnal here so I'm posting a sunny Parisian photo in a vain attempt at cheering myself up.
Grumble, spuffle, mutter, moan, bugger, bugger, bugger, etc …

Au Rocher De Cancale

Yesterday, Genie posted a delightful shot of a window on Rue Montorgueil, the best street in Paris for food and coffee and a great place for generally hanging around and watching Parisians from Clothilde's café.

As Genie is off to Paris in a week or so and I've just had my free office trip cancelled (dammit), I have a bad case of Parisian ache, so here is a photo of my favourite building on Rue Montorgueil: Au Rocher de Cancale.

Yes, it's grotty and run-down but it is also beautiful and if ever I get around to buying a lottery ticket and winning the damned thing this is the house I want to buy, renovate and live in.
The Rock of Cancale … a pretty little commune on the Breton coast. To live above a Breton restaurant on my favourite street in Paris would be bliss, but unfortunately I have to head off to work now and face the other grumpy Paris-bereft people. And … er … go bowling as it's Friday.

Have a great time in Paris, Genie. I'm not jealous. Oh, no. Not one bit (exits stage left, gnashing teeth and rending garments).

Sign Of The Times

The office Good News Spot has been somewhat grumpy since they cancelled our day trip to Paris because some whining idiots couldn't face getting up early and got worried about people wandering off and getting lost (not us - rumour points the finger at the London office staff).

Actually, it's not so bleak as it looks - it had an art exhibition poster pinned up last week and is currently waiting for a photo of Antje and Markus's new sprog. The office is a lot happier than the notice board suggests. But we'd be a whole lot happier if they'd not cancelled our trip to Paris, dammit.

Wednesday Window

And so to my favourite cinema.
Yes, this is a cinema - Cinema City to be precise, a fiercely independent little arthouse place hidden in a warren of fourteenth century houses. The flint wall is the back of the cinema itself and the oriel window is part of the cinema's restaurant.
Yes, this is the place that does "popcorn free" cinema. A cinema for people who actually want to enjoy a film without being surrounded by the disgusting racket of crunching and slurping that comes with the normal sticky-floored, stinking cinema "experience".
You enter through a lovely stone arch and eat your food in the restaurant or the courtyard café before or after the movie, thus allowing me to enjoy the film without wanting to kill you.
That's right. A cinema for considerate people! A cinema with no food or drink allowed in the theatre! What civilised bliss!
If only all the world worked this way.

Gargoyle Envy

Nobody does gargoyles quite like the Parisians.

No reason to post this except I'm too lazy to write and I like the evening light against the cotton wool sky.

Oh, and the extreme gargoyle action.

WTF Monday - A Spiffing Wheeze

My favourite ad from this year's Goodwood. They always have a splendid collection of vintage ads up on the bar walls.

These lovely people will soon find their teeth and fingers match their clothes.
And then they'll die, choking horribly and gasping for breath.
Woohoo!

Remember, kids: cigarettes are fun! It's cool and attractive to stink like a tramp's bonfire and smile like you've smeared shit on your teeth.

The old ads are fun though. Who can forget Ronnie Reagan's Christmas Chesterfields ad?

So don't forget, as the season approaches …

Quarter Past Nine

Saturday Statuary - Autumnal Ass

It's Autumn.

The weather's turned cold.

What should I do?

I know: I'll get nekkid and stick some spikes in my hair, then go hang around the park.

Obvious, really.

Crazy Name, Crazy Guy

Another local hero.
Sir … er … Cloudesley Shovel.

This statue lurks in a dark corner of Stranger's Hall in Norwich (scene of many a past post).

Anyone think it's time to bring back poodle wigs for middle-aged men?

Random Norfolk - Local Heroes Come In Many Flavours

Wednesday Window - The View From My Desk Again

Actually, this should be "Tuesday Window" as I took these yesterday morning, after the drama queen stormy sunset of Monday afternoon (in the last post).

Time to fess up: I don't get to enjoy this view all day when it's as sunny as it was yesterday. By late morning the world turns just enough to make the low autumn sun shine right at me, but taking photos with the blinds down would be kinda boring.

The View From My Desk

A bit of a drama queen sunset out of my office window yesterday afternoon.
The heatwave is over and things are turning decidedly Autumnal.

The top photo is taken with the why dangle lens (which is why everything looks so tiny and far away) and the camera resting on top of my monitor.
That's the river down at the bottom and Pull's Ferry just behind that annoyingly located lamp post.
And yes, I had to lighten up the foreground in Photoshop as it was all in silhouette. Hence the graininess - I only had my little pocket camera with me.

 This is more what it looks like through eyes instead of a lens. Actually, if you click on this one and blow it up it's about the same size as it looks from the office. I tell the time by glancing up at the City Hall clock tower … and yes, it's almost half-five; time to head on home.

 Is it just me or do you do this, too? I'm very nearly fifty-three years old and I still get all excited watching clouds roll across the sky.
Ooo, looky!
If it's just me, then it may help explain why I still live alone.

WTF Monday - Back When The World Made Sense

A big hi to Ms.M.

I'm guessing Boise was a lot quieter back then.

It's Sunday, Let's Have Some Sun

Photo courtesy of Phil, who'll be back in Rome in the spring to take some more.

3,772 Seasons And Counting

Autumn is upon us, supposedly the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, but this year Autumn has been the season of heatwaves, frosts, some trees turning gold, others deciding it's spring and bursting into flower again.

Tis the season of schizophrenic Mother Nature.

 In a little while, the trees will sort themselves out and get nekkid …

… and then this sort of thing is going to happen

Bleah.

Followed by this.

Spring at Norwich Castle is breathtaking.

The big ol' square box has sat up there on its mound since 1068 (and there was a wooden one up there before that).
It has never been taken, hence its non-ruinous state; mostly because Norfolk is where just about every revolt, revolution and rebellion of the last thousand years has started. We go and knock down other people's castles but ours stays intact. Yay us!

So far it has witnessed around 3,772 seasons, and hopefully it will see a few more yet.

Summer sees it splendidly scruffy; adrift in a sea of wildflowers. I love it like that; the idiots who campaign to have the grass cut short need a good slap upside the head.

The first photo and this one were taken this week.

The last of the season's wildflowers have gone to sleep after seeding the mound ready for next year.

And you'll remember this one from last week.

It's pretty hard to take a bad photo of Castle Blancheflower, so it makes for an easy post on a busy weekend.
And from my new office I have a great view of it, sitting serenely above the trees on the opposite side of the valley. I can watch it through the seasons by just looking up from my monitor; great for a lazy so-and-so like myself.

Enjoy your weekends, people.

One For The Colonials

Just to clear something up:

This is bowling …

And this is bowling …

But for very nearly fifty-three years now I have managed to avoid "the other one" … that vulgar Colonial pastime known as ten-pin bowling. Mercifully I don't have any photos of that.
However, at my new office, Friday lunchtime is apparently Bowling Time … Colonial style, and they dragged me along so they could laugh at the bowling virgin and so that none of them would come last.

I've been going for three weeks now and so far I've bruised my thumb so bad it went black, not known which fingers to put in the silly little holes, pulled a muscle somewhere deep inside my left buttock and missed the pins (or whatever they're called) more times than I've hit them.
As for what those godawful stinky shoes do for my pedestrian hygeine I shudder to think. I now take spare socks in to work on Fridays so I can sneak into the shower as soon as we're back at the office, scrub my feet clean and put on a fresh pair.
Gack, ick and eww!
They keep stats at the office and my bowling average is apparently seventy-three and a quarter, good reason for my Colonial friends to have a raucous chortle at my expense. I am comically crap at it and positioned proudly at the bottom of the office league (by a refreshingly large margin).

The place we go bowling is called (with no imagination whatsoever) "Hollywood Bowl". It is like a nightmare, a bad acid trip of garish colours, appalling noise, sickening junk food and horrifyingly overpriced alcopops, kiddie-sweet cocktails and crappy, wind-inducing lager 'beer'.

To reach the bowling lanes I have to negotiate acres of psychedelic vomit-patterned airport carpet littered with coin-operated crap that looks like it got thrown out of some downmarket Vegas (make that Reno) casino. When at last I reach the small part at the back of the building where the bowling actually takes place I am assailed by serried rows of TV screens showing dire, uninspired videos, and what passes these days for chart music is belted out of banks of speakers at unspeakable volume.

I suppose the only thing I can say in its defence is that the whole place is as least honest about its purpose: to suck money from children and drunks.
I honestly cannot recall ever having been inside such a dreadful building.

And the scariest thing of all is …
I actually enjoy it. Yay for Friday Lunchtime Bowling!

Shoot me now.

Wednesday Window On A Thursday

I've just lost all track of time. What year is this? I really don't have a clue this morning. Anyhoo, here's another example of a sweet juxtaposition of old and new, like the Forum and St.Pete's a couple of days back.
Have a nice whatever day this is.

Phil Goes Girling

One of many photos I didn't get around to posting during Goodwood Week (you'll know when I'm too busy to blog when more Goodwood photos appear; they make good filler): this is Phil, going Girling.

Somewhat to our disappointment, having blagged and conned our way up on top of the pit building (many thanks to Nick for the loan of the Lotus Team armbands) we found the place was merely a champagne bar and that our Blues Brothers impersonations ("How much for the leetle girl? I want to buy your weemen.") would be to no avail. We read the menu board twice, but alas, no girls …
Sigh …

Crusty Old Men Talking About Bricks

To the Forum last night with a couple of the partners for the opening ceremony of the RIBA Norfolk Architecture Festival …

… during the speeches for which much light-hearted mockery of the Forum's Architect was made in his presence. I think it's a lovely building to look at but I have to admit the acoustics inside are appalling.
The event goes on all week with lots of lectures and exhibition stuff. Pop along if you're in the city. There's free wine!

And this is the view as you exit the Forum doors, which is kinda spiffy.

Sorry about the crap photo quality but I only had my little pocket camara-ette.

WTF Monday - Abandoned Sousaphone

The rain came down. The jazz band fled, leaving just a straw hat and an abandoned Sousaphone.

There's something about the way it's sucked itself to the floor that makes it look kind of shy; completely at odds with its usual blarty personality.

More Boring Norwich Stuff

This is Hook's Walk, the little winding street I take between Bishop Bridge and Cathedral Close on my lunchtime perambulations into the city. This view is looking back from the Cathedral toward the river.

Last week's heatwave may have been stupidly sweaty and unpleasant but it sure made for some sweet photo opportunities.

What Was Behind Them

Had the couple on the bench in yesterday's photo had the sense to turn around, this is what they would have seen.

Sweet, huh?

I never tire of the place, which is just as well as I have to suffer looking at it all day.

And my walk into the city centre takes me right underneath it.

 As it was, yesterday's couple were looking at this ugly office block.

Actually it's an award-winning classic of Brutalism from 1969 and it's where I now work.

This was taken from the Bridge at the back, near the stair tower from the pigeonhole photo. The building is four floors high but it's dug into a steep hill so the back door from the car park is on floor three across the Bridge.

The terrace wraps around three sides and overlooks the river and is a great place to eat lunch.

My own office is up there on the top right (with the open window).

I face forward towards the Cathedral and all I can see out of my window is the Castle (just out of picture on the left), the Clock Tower and the Cathedral all floating above the trees.

Looking out at them is a nice way to de-stress.

Anyhoo … Have a great weekend, y'all.

It's Behind You

Popping out of the office to buy a paper I noticed these two enjoying a romantic lunchtime by the river. Why they're facing this way is quite beyond me. The view they're looking at is of my 1960s brutalist concrete office block and a bunch of crappy fibreglass pleasure boats; the view behind them across the meadows is of one of the most beautiful buildings on this or any other planet.
I guess some people are just born to face the wrong way.

Blues

No reason, just the last of the season's wildflowers set against Castle Blanchflower.

Wednesday Window - Pigeonhole

So anyhoo … Around ten yesterday morning we were all as busy as bees, drinking coffee and standing around chatting and comparing ankle injuries (another story) when there was this enormous crash from the back of the office and suddenly a pigeon was flying round the room.

Phil (no, not that one) caught it and set it free outside where it waddled around a bit, looking confused before flying off as if nothing had happened.

I was amazed at the almost perfectly circular hole the pigeon had made in the glass. It should at least be grateful that we work in an old 1960s office with thin single glazing; had it flown into a modern window it would be in somebody's pie by now.

More Lunchtime Heatwave Walkabout Stuff

One of my favourite houses in Cathedral Close and yet the view is spoiled by a fat man sitting on a bench with his legs spread out like an old lady who's just peed herself.
Ah, the restrained elegance of the Englishman.
Lovely.
I was going to Photoshop him out but his sheer awfulness somehow makes the house seem even more beautiful, so he stayed.

WTF Monday - Twins

And The Heatwave Keeps On Coming

So far we've had the hottest October days ever.

When Autumn finally arrives, all out of breath and full of excuses it will be nice to be able to walk ten paces without becoming drenched in sweat.

No sign of it yet, though.

The Gap-Toothed Bench

Another shot from my lunchtime heatwave walkabouts this week. Some of you might remember the Great Hospital posts (part 1, part 2, part 3 and part 4 … sheesh - re-reading those is like attending a somewhat sweary history lecture); well here it is in the autumn sunshine with some nerines in the foreground. I like nerines; they bring a touch of spring to autumn.
The Great Hospital is just across the little bridge from my office and on my route in to the city centre. I can see St.Helen's tower from my window.

Anyhoo … I rather liked the gap-toothed bench. We've let 500 Words lapse terribly but if anyone fancies writing a story around that bench we'll make it this month's assignment.

Have a spiffy weekend.