itoast

So Apple have launched the next big thing - the Iphone. It's a phone that surfs the net and stores music. Personally I thought phones already did all that - Though I tend to use mine mainly for storing annoying ringtones.
I shouldn't be so cynical - I am a little intrigued by this latest Steve Jobs gadget. I won't be able to afford it but I will look enviously at the people using them. I still haven't managed to get around to buying an mp3 player let alone an Ipod, let alone an Iphone.

I just wonder what's left to be developed for next years Mac World expo. I have some ideas if Steve's reading. 1) A grass cutter with mp3 capabilities - I'll call it the I-sickle. 2) A latin translator for storing music called the I-claudius. 3) A modern version called the I-talian.
My favourite is an mp3 playing slice of toast - I can't think what I'd call it but think of the possibilities; listen to music as you get ready for work in the morning and then eat it. Genius.

finally

Finally - a news story on which I am perfectly qualified to comment. Ruth Kelly has chosen to send one of her children to a private school to cater for his special educational needs.
As someone who feels very uncomfortable with the very concept of private education I have strong opinions about choosing to pay for an educational advantage. As someone working in the special education field I have strong opinions about funding for mainstream state special needs funding. Yes, I believe I am perfectly qualified to judge a Labour government on education, education, education.

But I'm not sure I actually can comment on this story. I'm missing one vital qualification - I'm not a parent.

I don't know how I would feel in her position. I can only assume that I would want the best for my child and if that involved paying money, and if I was in a position to afford the expense... well, I just don't know. The one thing I do know is that family surely comes before career.

So a moment comes where I can express a qualified position and I feel unable to do so - sorry.

royaume-uni dix points

So it seems the BBC are trying to get Morrissey to write the UK's Eurovision entry this year. That should be an uplifting little number. Still, at least it suggests that they might actually be taking it seriously for a change.

I used to enjoy Eurovision nights at university - it was one of the social occasions of the year (along with birthdays, end of exams, start of term, end of term, reading weeks, bank holidays, weekends, days ending in y) and it was a laugh if nothing else. Last year, however, the UK's entry made me a little uncomfortable.

Do you remember it? I have to admit that I had (thankfully) managed to push it out of my memory until I heard the Morrissey story on the radio this evening and they played the previous attempts. For those who have forgotten, it was a little number by a man called Daz Samson. He rapped badly while a bunch of school girls sang a repetitive melody and danced around some school desks. You have to wonder what people were being asked to vote for.

In his website Sampson told the world:

If anyone knows how to write a pop song, it's me and if there’s one thing the British public like… it’s a great pop song.

Modest - isn't he? Or maybe we should be using the past tense. Despite the fact the the song was all about how he was making it big despite being told by his teachers that he would never be a success as a pop singer he seems to have slipped off the radar. Sometimes people give advice for a reason. I was told I'd never make it as an escapologist Daz, but you won't find me handcuffed inside a safe being dropped in the Atlantic Ocean.

Morrissey was critical at the time,

I was horrified but not surprised to see the UK fail... Why didn't they ask me?"

I did think he was being funny at the time but obviously somebody took that seriously. Personally I'm all for it. If he can recapture the mood he achieved fronting the Smiths I think the whole of Europe will be in for bit of an unusual experience. And if he comes up with a title as good as Girlfriend in a Coma I'll be right behind him all the way.

the definition of relieved

Tonight I went out – occasionally I do have a social life. I spent a very pleasant evening in the Piano Lounge in the Europa Hotel – Europe’s most bombed hotel (I bet they’re getting sick of it being described like that.) My friend Shannon and I often go there to have our regular discussions about our love lives (or lack thereof) and university reminiscences. Well, we go there when we get sick of Starbucks. The Europa is an odd sort of place – from ground level it looks quite nice – posh even; but when you look up at the accommodation it looks distinctly scumy.

Anyway the Piano Lounge (or Piano Restaurant – depending on the time of day) is an extremely pleasant place for a chat and an overpriced drink. A conversation-conducive environment if you like. And there is usually somebody playing piano – hence the name.

A friend used to play there – he loved it. The way he saw it he got paid to practice his playing and he got to use a beautiful piano. A no-lose situation. One of my personal favourite piano bar related moments was when an international string quartet were playing at the Opera House next door. When they finished they came across the the Europa and gave an impromptu performance. Now I love the trad sessions you get in the Springhill bar but that night was something special.

Anyway, back to tonight. After a while I got up and made my way to the cloak rooms (or whatever they call the toilets in four star hotels) As I was there a young man came and used the urinal next to me. I never know what to do in situations like that. Are you supposed to make polite conversation? I know eye contact is out of the question but is one expected to pass the time of day with your convenience neighbour?

“You’re playing well. Enjoying it greatly.”

He looked a little confused, bemused even, and I went to wash my hands. As I dried them and made my way to the door all kinds of thoughts were invading my mind – the major one being

“What if he isn’t the pianist?”

The definition of relieved – seeing an empty piano stool on my way out of the gents.

If you're an English or Welsh cricket fan look away now

Oh joy, oh celebration.I’m almost crying with anticipated sporting joy. Is it because Northern Ireland have qualified for the European Championships? Has my mate Warren got himself a wild card for Wimbledon? Have I recently become the youngest special needs teacher to sail across the Atlantic? No, no and no. I am typing while listening to the England Cricket team capitulate to a series whitewash in the Ashes. They have just been bowled out in their second innings. Glenn McGrath has just taken the last English wicket and Australia need 46 to winI think they might just do it. Just a hunch.

Please don’t think I am an A-OBE (Anyone but England) and I’m not just bitter because the Irish aren’t very good at cricket, or many other sports – I think my dislike for English sporting teams is entirely justified. Let me tell you why.

Living in Northern Ireland, I imagine, is similar to living in Scotland or Canada or New Zealand. We all suffer from big neighbour syndrome and our media tends to be owned by companies from that neighbour. This means that we, in the UK, have to listen to a disproportionate amount of news about the English teams. In the summer it was the English in the soccer world cup – funny how things quietened down markedly after the game against Portugal. Then from, oh October until now it has been the Ashes; the only occasion hyped earlier than Christmas. Our television stations, our newspapers, our radio waves… all saturated with jingoistic cricket coverage.

So you’ll forgive me if I allow myself a little sigh of happiness at the way that coverage went from pride to nervousness to hope to defiance to despair to anger… and now to humiliation. It’s a true pleasure that Americans, Australians and English can never fully understand, watching the mighty falling after so much posturing. I think it’s worse for the English because I think they really believed they were the best team in the world after a fluky Ashes win eighteen months ago. The government quickly handed out honours (for no charge) to everyone involved and the nation cooed over images of drunken young men trying to do interviews whilst remaining standing (but it’s not really binge drinking if it’s celebrating. It’s not a pathetic sight – its endearing.)

We shouldn’t really be surprised; England have form. Think back to 1966. It was glorious, wasn’t it? “Some people are on the pitch…” The highlight of the sporting century. What happened in the next World Cup? What has happened in every World Cup since? I wasn’t born in '66 so I don’t remember the media coverage in the aftermath, but I was around when the English Rugby team won their World Cup – I do remember the gloating and the months of boasting… and I remember what happened to English Rugby soon after – and since. They flopped. The Soccer team peaked and then flopped – the Rugby team peaked and then flopped – so it’s only right that the cricket team do the same.Last night I sat up listening to Geoffrey Boycott becoming more and more confident that that England were going to win this test. He predicted that the England captain would take the new ball and knock the last few Australians out for 20 odd runs. 100 runs later I could hear him choking in the background as the Aussie tail end showed the English how to bat and Shane Warne got the highest score in the match. Boycott has done nothing but whinge for the past month and it was lovely to hear him silenced.

The actual players just showed much more respect and sportsmanship when they formed a guard of honour for the Australian batsmen as they came out for the final innings. If only the media could follow that example and lose with dignity then I might find myself taking the English side more often, I might have more sympathy for that spoilt brat Andrew Murray and I might not laugh every time I watch the English lose in the Six Nations.

For now as I watch Matthew Hayden score the final run to win by 10 wickets, I can do nothing more than pay homage to Glenn McGrath, Shane Warne and Justin Langer. I wish them a happy retirement. They have been incredible sportsmen in a truly great team and they have taken cricket to new heights of professionalism – but more than that, they saved me from weeks of 12 page glossy Ashes pullouts and interviews with drunken Englishmen.

2006 - the year of the blog

You can imagine my disgust when I turned on the radio last night and listened to the usual 'end of year review' drivel. On several occasions they described 2006 as 'The Year of the Blog.' Now, if you've taken the time (and if you're a considerate soul you will have) to read my first blog entry you'll know how I feel about joining something late - there's only one thing I like less than joining something late and that's joining a bandwagon late.

Listening to that show I began to realise that they were ridiculing the vast numbers of people who wrote blogs - perhaps ridiculing is too strong a word. They were mocking them in the way that people mock radio hacks as being nerds - but in a mass population kind of way. The thing is I used to agree with that point of view - in fact - sorry for the overuse of - - I kind of still do.

But back to the point. The pain I feel knowing that I joined a fad after the vast majority of the world's population. You have to know me to know how competitive I get over the smallest of things to understand my angst. It doesn't help that two good friends have been blogging for years and encouraging me to set one up. I ignored them.

Dave Van P, a determined blogger since 2005, never stopped poking me in the eye (metaphorically - Dave could never do something so violent) urging me to start typing. The main reason I did was probably to get him to stop.

JLo - Mr Lofranco has also been blogging for years. He writes for Maisonneuve magazine and used to do a hockey blog for them - he once quoted my somewhat controversial comments on the Belfast Giants and started all kinds of outrage. Did that spark my interest enough to begin back in the days when people were going 'blog? what's a blog?' I'm afraid not.

And so I must content myself with being a johnny-come-lately. But if I am going to do that I want to do it properly. I didn't just join as everyone was joining. I joined long after. An open message to the BBC - 2006 was NOT the year of the blog. in fact last year you said that 2005 was the year of the blog; and a little bit of research shows that, in fact, 2004 was the year of the blog. 2006 was the year of Youtube and the video blog. Oh yeah. And as DPV and the pupils I force to watch my videos will attest, I've been doing that for years!

early 2007

looks very similar to late 2006