What's Doing

Today, I have mostly been thinking about linguistic relativism, speaking relatively and other metaphysical concepts.

I often find myself thinking about the relativism of things, and just how subjective our view of the world is. Someone, somewhere, I’m sure has written a great science fiction story including a piece of technology which, when applied to a person, strips them of their preconceptions and shows them how the world really is. If there isn’t one then I claim first dibs on the idea.

Sometimes a chap just needs to stretch himself you know.

Sorry kids, I’m stuck in North West England with limited interweb access and a rather tight schedule. Discussion of the proper use of modern English and my wonderful taste in music will be sporadic for the next couple of weeks.

Feel free to leave comments and suggestions though, I should be able to check them occassionally. Especially Mr Cowle, who has been very quiet recently.

I mentioned Scaryduck earlier this week when I discovered the blog. But today, at lunch time to boot, I found myself howling with laughter, tears streaming down my cheeks as I perused one then another of the stories at Scaryduck’s House of Lies.

If you don’t find them funny you must be clinically dead. Or perhaps you’re just not a thirty-something Englishman with fond memories of Grange Hill and the school science club. Not that I ever went to science club you understand, I’m not that big a geek.

Whatever you do, don’t show Bobo these cute puppy photos. Before you know it she’ll be saying "Bod needs a pet, aren’t dogs lovely" and I will be knee deep in cans of Chum.

That way lies madness my friends. Madness I tell you.

Mrs Palmer, you are a shocker. When I posted my list of all time top five favourite albums of all time last week her comment was "who is Chris Difford?" Mrs P, you live in a cultural vacuum.

<insert obligatory smart comment about Jonnys record collection here>

So, who is the best lyricist of his generation? Well, he wrote some of these gems;

• Don’t shoot that singer, you’re shooting number one
• The squaw is with the corporal, She is tied against the tree, She doesn’t mind the language its the beatings she don’t need
• The Sweeney’s doing ninety, ‘Cos they got the word to go, They get a gang of villains in a shed up at Heathrow
• Sunlight on the lino, woke me with a shake, I looked around to find her but she’d gone
• They do it down on camber sands, they do it at Waikiki
• I never new it would happen, with me and the girl from Clapham
• Late evenings by the fire, little kicks inside her

The last one is a particular favourite in our house at the moment, strangely enough.

Not guessed yet? Those aren’t just song lyrics, they are poetry. South London poetry to boot. From one half of the writing duo that produced all of the songs for the band Squeeze.

The other party being, of course, one Glenn Tilbrook. His solo album isn’t bad either, certainly worth a listen.

Oh, and the DNS propogation has completed and seems to have been successful. So if, like Tinky Winky, you have been using http://halfcooked.com/andrew to refer to anything on this site you will no longer be in luck. Its http://www.andrew-todd.com/ or nothing from now on folks. I love Cornerhost, my super helpful and efficient hosting company.

Finally, before the lights go really dim and the backup generator has to kick in, another top link for the 70’s throwback.

At this page Roddy Lumsden is discussing short music reviews. As we all know the shortest, and best, critical appraisal of a piece of popular music was the two word summary of the merits of Spinal Tap’s "Shark Sandwich".

Said review was, for the culturally impaired, "Shit Sandwich"

Sorry for the swearing but it was a quote, and it was in context. [Courtesy of NTK]

"I know lads, lets get the band back together."

I for one can’t wait. As the 70’s throwback would say – rocktastic.

Bobo bought me a copy of Big Lad in the Windmill at the weekend. I’ve just loaded it onto my PC at work. How happy am I? On a scale of one to ten, this one comes in at about eleven. Sweetie, you are the best.

On a boring note, this web site (and associated) email address may be a little shaky over the next day or so. Please accept my apologies for any disruption to your reading pleasure whilst we muck about with nasty technical things like DNS and server configuration.

Read Scary Duck, recipient of the best British blog award 2002 from the Guardian Online.

In itself not a glowing recommendation, but his stories of glories past, particularly this one about Blue Peter are worth the entrance fee alone.

Please feel free to ignore the Arsenal stories, some people just can’t help themselves I’m afraid.

Warning – boring entry ahead.

In the space race that is my gadget collection another giant leap has been made. I felt terribly insecure that I wasn’t wandering around with the latest and greatest in mobile phone technology. Not to mention the need to keep up with the Hennessys and own a camera phone.

My current mobile, nice and nifty though it is, doesn’t exactly slip into a pocket and thus usually gets left at home or on my desk. This means that I miss about seventy percent of the calls I receive. Mind you, thats not a big issue because I only get about ten a week anyway, and my caller usually rings my desk phone when I don’t answer the mobile. Still, there is the fashion aspect to consider, which is why I went and got a new phone. The big cost is that I’ve changed networks and not been able to keep my number.

So my point, and I do have one, is that I have a new mobile phone with a new number. The new number is at narcissism central for the curious.

Why should I care? I hear you ask. Well, for no reason really, but when you call the old number and I don’t return your call I can point to this blog post and say, in summary "Ner, Ner, Ne, Ner, Ner". I will still pick up messages on the old number for a while but if you must get hold of me the new mobile will usually be about my person, and I may even answer it.