Notes from a Low Land

New Location

2007-03-16T10:53:00.000+01:00

I'm so fickle. I switched to Wordpress. Again. My site is now at http://lowlander.wordpress.com/

My First Gig

2007-03-13T11:39:00.000+01:00

Despite the advancing years, my memory remains excellently "fit-for-purpose", as any number of public figures currently seem unable to avoid saying. The purpose being... to rewrite my past in a way which fits my current needs.

When my son asked me about the first gig I ever went to, I told him about Killing Joke. They were a product of the early eighties post-punk scene, and are widely cited as influences by better known bands such as Metallica, Nirvana, Foo Fighters, or more recently Korn. It was 1982 and I went with my mate Lofty. The venue was just down the road from the Birmingham Hippodrome. I was conmpletely out of my depth and only knew a couple of songs. I was soaked with sweat and my head throbbed all the way home, but I'd loved it.

It was a perfectly formed memory. It reminded me of the joys of innocence and experience, while boosting my musical credibility in front of my teenage son. There was only one problem. It was not my first gig.

That was the rather less streetcred enhancing Altered Images at the B'ham Odeon in 1981. Like a host of other teenage wanabee punks in the audience, I was there to get the best possible view up the ra-ra skirt of girl-next-door-sexy lead singer Claire Grogan, and brag to all my schoolmates about it the next day. I seem to remember that at the time they were considered vaguely cool because of the alleged Banshees connection. However, they were later known for their commercially successful but slightly embarrassing punk-pop fusion, the skinny cringe-inducing little girl singer, and the utterly uncool single "Happy Birthday".

I am sure that when asked by my son, I had genuinely forgotten all about Altered Images. But now, in my quiet moments, I can admit I liked them better.

Surge of Sperm in Belgium

2007-03-02T18:44:00.000+01:00

Flemish men are much more potent now than they were 15 years ago, according to the latest scientific study. The dramatic improvement started in 1995 - the same year that I arrived in Belgium. However, no statistically significant correlation has been established between these two facts.

On 22 February flandersnews.be reported encouraging new research under the noteworthy headline "Quality of Flemish sperm surges". Ghent University andrologist Frank Comhaire recorded an amazing improvement in the quality of Flemish sperm. Prof. Comhaire says that since the low point in 1992, the mobility of sperm has increased by an amazing seventy percent.

Prof. Comhaire looked at the relationship between sperm quality and birth figures on the one hand and the presence of heavy metals, dioxins, pesticides and other chemical pollutants in the environment on the other. His team established a clear link between a drastic reduction in dioxin emissions and improved sperm quality.

In other news, Belgian underwear sales are buoyant, with strong growth in all areas.

* Apparently an andrologist is a medical expert focusing on diseases in men, especially those of the reproductive organs. Obviously I wouldn't know myself.

Cool Podcasts

2007-01-17T14:32:00.000+01:00

I've been into podcasts for quite a while now - since I discovered the joy of listening to all those BBC Radio 4 programmes I'd normally miss, while travelling into the city on the train. I don't spend a lot of time exhaustively combing the podcast listings, but I've found there's some good stuff out there - amongst the piles of rubbish.

I never much cared for the idea of the walkman, or the ipod. Partly because of my low opinion of those inflicting a drum beat serenade on their fellow travellers, and partly because I've always enjoyed music in a social context rather than as a solo activity. If I could have listened to the Today programme (BBC Radio 4) on my way to work every morning, like I used to do when I took the car, that would have been perfect. But getting a transistor radio to receive 198 LW whilst on a Brussels tram is pretty difficult. Believe me. I've tried.

So downloadable BBC radio programmes have been a welcome step forward to me, and so in more recent times, has the discovery of good quality podcasts from other sources. In the beginning most examples were pretty poor, but some have turned out to be excellent. The consistently high quality still comes from my trusted channels like the BBC (UK) and NPR (USA) but I've come across great independent ones too.

To add to my previous meme lists, here are my four favourite podcast channels:

The Seanachai - Consistently clever and charming short stories
The President's Weekly Radio Address - Can parody outdo Dubya?
The Now Show - BBC Radio 4 - Weekly British political satire show
Science Friday - NPR - Weekly American popular science show

A Nice Green Glow

2007-01-15T12:47:00.000+01:00

Just like a certain major British retailer, I feel the need to demonstrate my environmental credentials today.

I could walk the 10 minutes to school with my kids in the morning instead of taking the car. I could invest in energy-saving improvements in my home, like new light bulbs. I might get radical and turn off the lights when I'm not using them. It's even been suggested that I might put on a jumper and turn down the central heating thermostat by one degree. I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.

But the longest journey starts with a single step. So today, inspired by the example of Britain's returned prodigal retailer, I'm taking a first few tentative steps. I've saved food miles by buying 50 kilos of winter apples from the very nice farmer who knocked on my door, and I've changed the template on my blog to a nice leafy green.

Like many ordinary concerned consumers, I am instinctively cynical of profit centred big business and their green claims. That's because I know that even when the nice green choice is laid on a plate in front of us, I - and millions of others like me - need a dose of ECT to change our behaviour in anything more than the most simple of ways.

Public Smoking Ban

2007-01-14T12:04:00.000+01:00

Seven weeks into giving up the fags and I'm finally ready to risk going to a pub again. After all, from 1 January 2007, smoking is banned in all public places in Belgium right? Oh, I see. All public places where people don't mind not lighting up.

I gave up smoking for the somethingth time about 7 or 8 weeks ago. The last time I tried lasted all of 2 heroic weeks, so this is pretty good going so far. I gave up for the usual reason - I want to live. But there's also various other contributing factors like care and concern for my wife and kids, general fitness, recurring hypochondria etc. But what really helped this time was the thought that I wouldn't be able to have a drink and a cigarette together in the bar in any case.

Even though I originally thought the Irish ban on smoking in pubs was bizarre, I came round to the idea. When it was discussed in the UK, I was one of those smokers supporting it. The reason is simple. I am a smoker because I enjoy having a cigarette. Giving up can be tough, and the chemical addiction is real and fairly powerful. But when I'm giving up, the worst temptations are those situations where you enjoy having a cigarette. For me, that was in the pub over a beer. So the much discussed Belgian ban on smoking in public places (from 1 January 2007) was an encouragement.

However, in true Belgian style, the ban is not all it seemed. What they really meant was that smoking is banned in all public places, except those where it's not. That means that most cafes and bars I've come across so far are still smoking zones. So back to relying on willpower then...

School Photos

2006-10-17T20:17:00.000+02:00

If there's anything calculated to bring me out of a blogging stupor it's a case of parental dotage. October is school photo time - so here they are.

These are pretty cool compared to the horror cases produced by Cecil Wilkins "Photographer to the Stars", who blighted the lives of thousands of Worcestershire schoolchildren in the 1970's and 80's. I was victim of a few of those in my time and they were, of course, the one's my Mum loved. You know, those ones with eyes half-lidded and mouth open guppy style. Or even better, showing the victim in the act of suppressing a particularly strong impulse to break wind.

She'd order extra copies of the mini ones and send them to every single auntie (including the pretend ones who lived next door), great auntie, nan, grandma, great grandma, and all the ladies at the Kingdom Hall.

They were the ones for which she ordered the biggest enlargement possible. The megalux 90x60cm poster print would then take pride of place - in the front window - or on a specially erected poster board left behind by the unsuccessful labour candidate for the Mid Worcestershire constitutency in 1983.

Of course I would never inflict such excruciating horror on my own children. Well... the web's different. The picture's aren't so big.

European Champions

2006-06-10T14:09:00.000+02:00

Yes - we are champions of Europe. Our production of "The Real Lady Macbeth" won first prize at FEATS 2006 in Luxembourg this weekend. Read more

Only pop music can save us now!

2006-06-01T10:46:00.000+02:00

I'm about to take a bold (or desperate) step and start my own business. All I have to do now is a Christiano Ronaldo-like side step (or three) and produce an explosive burst of pace to get past the lumbering left-back of Belgian officialdom.

I have clients in-waiting, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of EU decision-making and public policy. I even have a shiny desk with one of those spheres that shoots "lightning" into your palm when touched.

I have an accountant and business adviser to make sure I get my VAT returns in on time and choose the best legal form for my company.

I have the appropriate sober business suits, and smart casual wear for those summer outdoor receptions.

I haven't yet got my new mobile office paraphenalia (phone, pocket PC, laptop, portable secretary) but I'm onto it.

All I need now is vision, inspiration, courage, determination, persistence, and maybe a little bit of luck now and again.

And if I get into real problems... well, there's always Motorhead.

Macbeth rides again

2006-05-31T22:15:00.000+02:00

Another theatrical triumph is about to be unleashed on the world. Stand aside Gielgud, Olivier, John Wayne. I'm playing Macbeth! Sort of.

In fact I'm playing Macbeth in "The Real Lady Macbeth", a play by Stuart Delves . Winner of a Fringe First in 1982, The play traces both the truth and lies surrounding the Macbeths. As the fictional Shakespeare (that's me) says:

What interests me is not the history but the man… Give that man poetry & rich imagination, then sell his soul to the devil & let him communicate.

The actors wander through five centuries, playing four parts each, as they explore historical fact mixed with fictional fable. For

A man must find his fable, and kill it with his truth.

So I play the "real" Macbeth, Shakespeare's Macbeth, Shakespeare (from Perry Bar), and Blink, and get to do the "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow" speech in broad Brummie accent. More importantly I get to empty the dressing-up box and wear my flouncy, Mr Darcy-like shirt, knee high boots, massive metal encrusted belt, and wave my broadsword around outside the house for once!

You've lost that blogging habit, Woa-oh woa...

2006-05-31T22:05:00.000+02:00

Having suffered a Shez-like dip in the old blogging habit I now have to sort myself out. So today I am committing myself to blog more often! Dib-dib. Benny Hill type salute (tongue out side of mouth, milk bottle bottom glasses etc.). Best intentions.

Of course what this means is that I'm sitting here with a bit of time and thinking I've got lots to write about. So, over the next week or two I'll no doubt pump out articles like there's no tomorrow, then gradually subside to nothing by the end of June.

Here goes.

Congrats Lil' Sis'

2006-03-27T15:37:00.000+02:00

Emma, my mad-as-a-madhatter-on-nitrous-oxide youngest sister, has a little boy! Born yesterday, the 'little' fella weighed in at over nine pounds and was eventually delivered by c-section. Presumably that was a bit painful. But then, it's a girl thing.

No name yet, but the precedents are not good. She called her cats 'Battlestar' and 'Galactica', and has a beagle called 'Marlboro' *.

I have a complete dearth of embarrassing photos of my little sister. That's completely amazing given the amount of daft or just plain bizarre things she's done. I don't even have any un-embarrassing ones. Also, in the absence of the traditional new mom and baby photo posted by one of the family 'closer to the action' than me in Belgium, I have to improvise.

Here's a photo of a cat in a box - which kinda reminds me of Emma. Of course, the box should be attached to a piece of string, dangling 10 feet below her bedroom window. But it's the best I could do at short notice.

* WARNING. I may have made that up.

UPDATE: I was wrong. Here's my beatiful sister playing bridesmaid at my wedding (my Nan and the rest of the wedding party in the background.

Shez - Hero of the English Language

2006-03-27T14:35:00.000+02:00

Hey Shez - here's that poem (circa 1983) I found in a box at Christmas!

And for those finding it a little difficult to read:

English
English is a language,
A language of the past
A series of old words
Worse than bottom blasts.

English is of Chaucer
Of Shakespeare and of Ross
No-one wants to speak English
No-one gives a toss.

For those learning English
Sitting bored in class
I doesn't need any grammar
You can stick it up your ass.

So as a sort of conclusion
Wether it be language or lit
The whole goddamn subject
Is a pile of shit.

Written in English by Shez

Dave Challens - 30 Today

2006-02-19T13:44:00.000+01:00

Star of stage and screen (extra in BBC's Pickwick Papers and Casualty), Dave Challens celebrates his 30th birthday today.

This is my favourite picture of him, playing Constable Ping alongside brother Steve, as the Windsor Davies like Constable Pong, in Alladin at the Blackwood Miners Institute, South Wales in January 1994. What a star!

Ben Nureyev

2006-01-24T19:14:00.000+01:00

My son Ben (almost 10yrs), has just come home from his second ever ballet class. Somewhat amazingly, he was keen to show off his new leotard, vest and ballet shoes (all black). What a man!

He's pursuaded that taking up dance is in fact extra football training. As a goalie, and a not very tall one at that, he needs to be able to outjump the opposition. And who can jump higher than a ballet dancer? Indeed, in any other position on the field, ballet will help him with strength, athleticism, balance - and concentration.

It helps that the only other boy in the class is his mate, and a star player in his football team, who's been doing ballet since he was five.

And whilst he currently has little interest in the opposite sex, it must be a serious investment for the future that he'll be able to spend teenage evenings with 15 extremely supple girls in leotards.

Meme?

2006-01-23T15:54:00.000+01:00

Having been "memed" by Bruce I had to look up what this was.

According to the International Roiter Doister himself, it's "just geekspeak for 'Chain Letter' " - so your average load of old bollocks then. Here's his. But since, according to The Memes List "you'll never run short of blog material again", and I have had notably little to add to my blog for the last couple of months, I thought it worth a go.

That and the fact that according to the chain letter he so thoughtfully sent me, if I don't, my penis will fall off.

So here goes...

Four jobs I've had in my life

MacDo "team member" (6 weeks). I got sacked for not being a team player, which was very unfair. I am a team player. I just didn't want to be on their team.
Machine operator in a fishing tackle factory (combined total of 16 weeks). My record was 500 brass thingy bits in 1hr 46 mins. Can you beat that? There were disappointingly few jokes about "tackle".
Brussels lobbyist (10 years). Best moment - winning a funding programme worth £1.2bn.
Sherriff of Nottingham in the pantomime "Babes in the Wood" (3 week run). Complete freedom to scream, shout, terrify small children, humiliate big-mouthed hecklers, lecherously eye-up buxom teenage actresses, abuse subordinates, sword-fight like Dartagnon, lie, cheat and swish my big black cloak like it was going out of fashion. Easily the best 'job' ever.

Four movies I can watch over and over

Monty Python & the Holy Grail
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
The Blues Brothers
ET

Four places I have lived

Norton Cannon, Herefordshire (pop. 12ish). Mum, Dad and five kids in a two-up two-down seemingly miles from anywhere; with cold running water, outside toilet and a tin bath in front of the fire . Suurounded by fields and farms and woods. A magical world for a child.
Redditch, Worcs. 80's land of luxury lego council houses (my own bedroom!), and launch pad to a wider world including...
Argoed, Gwent. A glimpse of the best and worst of Wales' coal mining communities after the pits closed. Wonderful people, appalling mess.
Brussels, Belgium. The worst - Belgian waiters. The best - an outstanding quality of life.

Four TV shows I love to watch

Match of the Day. Lineker, Lawro and Hansen. TV gold.
The Young Ones (University Challenge - Scumbag College)
The Fast Show
The Six Nations. In the pub with the Welsh fans.

Four places I have been on vacation

Trecco Bay, Porthcawl. Summer hols in Auntie Gill's caravan, and then our own. Reputedly the largest caravan park in Europe. Sitting on the headland, watching the sea come in...
Moscow and Leningrad, USSR. Nevsky Prospekt with Lynne, Simon and Sue on New Years Eve 1987. Unforgettable.
Epidauros, Greece. There was a big theatre. And a effing enormous wasp!
Venice, Italy.

Four of my favourite dishes

Moules Mariniere and frites
Heinz steamed treacle pudding. With lashings of custard. No shares.
Shepherds Pie
Chevagne goats cheese with fresh baguette (and wine!)

Four websites I visit daily
Four?! I'm so un-webcool. The sites I visit more or less daily are:

Others I like:

Four places I would rather be right now

In the pub
Collecting my lottery winnings
Playing PES5 with my kids
The Highlands & Islands (Scotland)

Four bloggers I am tagging
Oh bollocks to that. I don't really read other blogs except to keep up with old mates. And even then it's only to make sure they haven't spilled the beans about Johnny Wankmag.

Oh. Right.

Oh well. At least my penis hasn't fallen off.

Photo nightmares

2005-11-22T12:47:00.001+01:00

Bruce highlighting the joys of stock photography prompted me to muse on the mid numbing deployment of photos in your average public sector press release or "magazine".

You know the ones. Five nervous looking people, plus one borderline maniac, standing in front of a nondescript building site in yellow hard hats. Here's a close up.

Borderline...

Almost as good are those posed-relaxed snaps of chief executive types working at their desks and then accidentally noticing the camera pointed at them. They’re always in the front of annual reports, or profile articles. I even have one or two of myself “caught unawares”, and here's an example. Good eh?

Caught unawares

Rizla to Close

2005-10-02T14:13:00.000+02:00

Welsh pot-heads are mourning their loss. They’ve stopped making Rizla papers in South Wales. Guess what – they’ve moved to Belgium.

Imperial Tobacco has announced the closure of the Rizla rolling paper factory in Treforest, South Wales with the loss of 134 jobs. The Treforest factory (near Pontypridd) produced 23 billion leaves in the last financial year. The company now plans to move its entire production to Wilrijk in Belgium, a currently underused branch plant with the capacity to produce 66 billion “leaves” annually.

According to company spokesman David Cresswell, speaking in the Western Mail, the decision was taken because the company owns the whole of it's site in Belgium but only owns part of its site in Treforest. An example of the mighty logic of the market.

By a strange coincidence the personal use of pot is de-criminalised in Belgium.

Many Welsh pot heads (like Stevie Challs - pictured in his classic 80's perm) will mourn the loss of Rizla. Whatever the merits of the fag papers themselves, it allowed them to claim their excessve consumption was a patriotic duty in support of the Welsh economy and local jobs.

Curiously, no reduction in Welsh weed consumption has yet been noted.

Thick Parent

2005-09-22T22:50:00.000+02:00

Schools are much more scary now than they used to be.

My son Jake has just started secondary school here in Braine l'Alleud in provincial Belgium. This is always a big transition but I have been amazed at how much is expected of an 11 year old child.

I skipped through high school doing my homework at the last moment, or a day or two late having been given a 'disappointed look' or occassionally even being 'told off'. OK, yes, also on the bus or during registration if it was for a particularly scarey teacher (Mr Semley - Maths). I worked harder during my first degree and post-grad study too, but still always right at the last minute. At school at least, doing the least amount of work possible, while looking like you were putting in at least a decent effort, was part of the game.

But at Jake's (11) secondary school, or Ben's (9) primary school, you just don't get away with that. They are incredibly organised, and the basis of this is the school diary or 'journal de classe'. I have to sign this every day (for Ben) or every week (for Jake). It's a tyranny.

A missed piece of homework is immediately highlighted and I have to sign to acknowledge this - and offer any remarks I have on the subject. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say, but it certainly feels like an immediate accusation that you're an indolent parent and that a full and profuse apology is required.

The detail in Jake's journal de classe is even scarier. For every day of the year the classes he's had are set out, along with what he has covered during that lesson, and any homework he has to do. There's also a section for teachers' comments and another opportunity for parents to apologise for their inadequacy.

I've so far done my best be a responsible supportive parent but I have a serious handicap. I don't understand the question. It's not exactly a question of language. I understand the words 'matieres', 'syntheses' and 'contrôles'... but I haven't got a clue what they mean in a Belgian school and what is required.

For this reason Jake now has to go the supervised study class three times a week. This is normally reserved for kids who have academic difficulties, or need extra supervision to make sure they do any work at all. Jake has to go because his Dad's a thickie.

Cheap as Chips?

2005-09-16T00:05:00.000+02:00

Oh dear. First it was beer price rises, now a poor potato harvest sends the price of chips soaring. What greater calamity can afflict the Belgian working man? I suppose they’ll be putting up the price of fags next. Oh. Right.

This year’s potato harvest is set to be 10-15% below normal. Potato crops will be smaller and fewer according to Marc Goeminne of Belgium’s Experimental Centre for Potato Growing. The “Bintje” variety, principally used in the production of the great Belgian “frite” has been particularly badly affected. The result – rises in the price of chips of course.

I've no doubt the demonstrators will be out for this one. Frites are a central and iconic part of Belgian life! They must be protecteted under the "cultural exception". It's what makes the nation great! And while we're at it, what about cheap fags too...

There's a Belgian, a German... and a Frenchman.

2005-09-15T22:56:00.000+02:00

In less PC times it was common for the English to tell Irish jokes – now they're reduced to doing Welsh ones instead. In just the same way, the French tell Belgian jokes. But the Belgians are no victims. They're just as vicious in response. Here’s a selection of their jokes about the French translated from frites.be.

“What’s the point?” you say. “Most of these jokes are basically the same formula wherever you go. First there’s jokes about personal hygiene, then there’s the ones about how thick they are, then there’s just general abuse. We can do without that kind of cheap racist tat, thank you very much. You fascist bully boy”.

But unthinking political correctness can sometimes prove as much a barrier to real understanding as bigotry. The forms of humour people choose can provide a fascinating insight into their identity and society. In this case it's particularly interesting to study the relationship between two other nations divided by a (at least in parts) common language. Oh yes… and it provides another excuse to laugh at the French – which is always welcome.

Personal hygiene:

Why did the French invent the bidet?
It’s easier than drinking out of the toilet.

Where’s the best place to hide your money?
Under a Frenchman’s soap.

Intelligence:

A Belgian, a German and a Frenchman go for a job interview in England. During the interview they’re asked to formulate a sentence in English, using the words ‘green’, ‘pink’ and ‘yellow’.
The Belgian starts off: “I wake up in the morning, , I eat a yellow banana, a green pepper and in the evening I watch the Pink Panter on TV.”
The German says: “I wake up in the morning, I see the yellow sun, the green grass and I think to myself: I hope it will be a pink day.”
Finally the Frenchman: 'I wek up in ze mornaine, I hear ze phone 'green - green... green - green' I pink up the phone and I zay 'Yellow?'...

Pierre’s on the beach with his son Xavier.
The lad says: “Look Daddy – a boat”
“That’s not a boat” His dad says “it’s a yacht”
“A yacht? How do you spell that?” The lad says.
“You’re right” says dad “it is a boat”

General abuse:

What’s the difference between a French dog and a Belgian dog?
The Belgian dog has the arsehole under his tail.
The French dog has the arsehole on the end of his lead.

Why did the French choose the cock as their national emblem?
It’s the only animal that still sings, even when it’s feet are covered in shit.

What’s the difference between God and a Frenchman?
God doesn’t think he’s French…

Two French waiters in a restaurant:
“Oi, Robert. How much does a fart weigh?”
“It doesn’t way anything – it’s gas.”
“Oh. I must have shit myself then.”

Welsh Lookalikes

2005-09-05T21:48:00.000+02:00

While watching the half-time "analysis" of the Wales v England match on Sky this weekend, I was puzzled to see Abdullah Gül, Turkish Foreign Minister, talking lucidly about the effectiveness (or not) of Sven Goran Eriksson's 4-5-1 system.

I was impressed by his versatility. It's not that often that you find an international statesman with such a firm grip on the problems facing the Welsh coach in building a successful team for the Euro 2008 campaign.

Further investigation revealed that it was in fact Wales' former world best goalie Neville Southall analysing possession and territory statistics from the first half, rather than the unprepossessing but hard-to-beat diplomat. Still impressive - but slightly disappointing.

Statesman or stato?

Beer more expensive

2005-08-29T21:26:00.000+02:00

This week Belgian civilisation is shaken to it's core by the revelation that beer prices will rise as a result of the hike in world oil prices.

The news that the cost of beer will go up three percent on 15 September set off a wailing and gnashing of teeth across the country (probably). Rises in the price of energy and chemicals have led to rises in the price of beer kegs, bottles and plastic containers used in the production process.

The industry points out that beer prices only increased 11 percent over the last 10 years compared to 21 percent for colas and 24 percent for bottled water. This is little consolation to the connoisseur consumers used to excellent cheap beer whenever they want it.

Belgium is beer paradise, and beer holds an exalted status here with hundreds of small breweries producing a huge range of unrivalled quality. Beer is drunk at all times of the day, and in my local cafe, opposite the station, I regularly see men (rarely women I admit) relaxing over a glass of Chimay Bleu or Orval before catching the morning train to work. This is perhaps increasingly less common, but still widespread, especially since it's a tradition enthusiastically embraced by Welsh expats intent on soaking up the complete "Belgian experience"...

Breakfast

Source:xpats.com (ish)

Return of the Photo-Crashers

2005-08-22T20:53:00.000+02:00

Those Japanese tourist's thirst for revenge knows no bounds. Not content with turning up in the most serene republic, now they're all over my snaps of the French alps.

Having taken 2 days of fairly relaxed driving down the Paris-Rhine-Rhone toll motorway network to get to our destination I stopped to take the traditional road sign shot. Amazingly, this Nipponese cyclist managed to sneak into view without my noticing.

Later the next week I try to get capture a picturesque scene including our hotel but to no avail. Instead Trueprint returns a gloriously smirking oriental gentleman displaying his cycling accessories!

Is this all part of a worldwide conspiracy to fill the photo albums of western families with photos of happy and relaxed Japanese? Thereby indoctrinating our children in the dangerous assumption that there is no truth in night-time fears of the imminent yellow peril? Leading them to lower their guard and allowing Eastasian hegemony to creep upon them unnoticed?

We should be told! I feel a letter to Oliver Stone coming on...

Les Grandes Vacances

2005-08-03T22:13:00.000+02:00

We're off on a summer holiday for the next few weeks, so nothing much is gonna happen here.

Being really hard up (or tight-fisted - take your choice) I shopped around for a cheap summer break and discovered a fantastic deal in the French Alps for August. For GBP250 (yes 250) I managed to book two weeks in a 5 person studio appartment in the alpine ski-station of Alpes d'Huez.

I know what you're thinking. "There's no snow you plonker!". But I'm assured this place operates as a multi-activity centre during the summer and in addition to huge heated outdoor pools and extensive sports facilities, also boasts an amazingly mild micro-climate with clear skies and long sunny days throughout the summer.

Lynne has bought hiking boots in an effort to look enthusiastic. I have bought a compass and a whistle, balaclava, gloves, big wooly socks, thermal underwear, climbing helmets, maximum sunscreen, waterproofs and rucksacks, an emergency tent, global positioning navigation system, satellite telephone, and Chris Bonnington's highly informative book "Everest". Oh, and 10lbs of Kendal mint cake of course.

This has blown any saving I made on the holiday itself, but you don't want to be caught out unprepared while trekking to the bakery do you?

UPDATE 4 August: Snow goggles, an ice-pick, padded trousers, a billy can, a husky sled and team, Lonnie Barbach's book "For Yourself" (err...), 30 cans of baked beans, a 3 day course in extreme survival with Ray Mears...

Sad Jokes

2005-08-03T20:37:00.000+02:00

Not all jokes are funny. Especially mine. I think this must be something to do with parentofadolescents syndrome. Once your offspring reach eleven or so, your jokes become automatically sad rather than clever, off-beat, and funny. I am therefore indebted to the manwhofellasleep (fab website go there), for a whole new list of jokes with which to regale my kids on the 12 hour drive to the south of France.

Man: Doctor, Doctor, I've broken my leg.
Doctor: I'm afraid it is a very bad break. You will never walk again.

Did you hear about the blonde who jumped out off a bridge?
She was clinically depressed and took her own life because of her terribly low self-esteem.

Why do women fake orgasms?
Because they want to give men the impression that they have climaxed.

Man: What a beautiful dog. Does he bite?
Dog-owner: No.
Man: Can I pet him?
Dog-owner: No, he has a form of eczema that makes his skin weep if touched.

What do you call a man with a spade in his head?
You call him an ambulance. He may have fractured his skull.

Walking in the Wind

2005-07-24T15:12:00.000+02:00

There is no more pathetic sight than a paunchy, balding and mediocre actor putting on white face paint and doing those Marcel Marceau clichés like walking in the wind or the glass box.

So please take your seats for Friday night's performance of Underground Lovers by Jean Tardieu at the Halifax Playhouse, where I shall be doing my best to out-Kenny Mr Everett.

In fact the play is a brilliant half hour piece of adsurdism. Directed by "that Steve Challens" it won first prize at FEATS 2005 (European festival of english speaking theatre) in Hamburg in May. Starting with a bizarre 'nonsense - but not nonsense' script and shop dummy central(ish) character, Steve has added great energy, humour, happy hardcore music and of course, mime and white faces for all the characters.

I wasn't actually in the original production but one of the actors couldn't travel to England for this performance, so I get to stand in and strut my stuff. Don't worry, I'll have had a few rehearsals by Friday - and Steve's promised to bring a couple of pairs of socks for extra confidence.

High Flying Adored

2005-07-06T23:30:00.000+02:00

Thanks to Bruce for being the dude with the camera when we all met up in the Queen's Head (Redditch) last week. More photos and the full story of the big night out on his site.

Bruce notes that Shez's appearance on the morning after was pretty typical of all of us. True. Unfortunately, instead of staying locked in a darkened room, I had to expose myself to the rude glare of the general public (where's my hoody when I need it?) while boarding the 09.30 flight to Brussels. Luckily I didn't really notice since all external sensation was drowned out by the drum & base party going on inside my skull.

My torture was relieved when I remembered the pretty little coloured pills my Mum gave me for my "bit of a headache" in place of paracetomol. "They're you're Dad's painkillers" says she, "just a bit stronger than the normal ones"

She wasn't kiddin' either. I'd swear our Avro 900 did a Harrier-like vertical take-off, and I wasn't the least perturbed by the half hour wait at Brussels while the baggage handlers finished their lunch and then called for extra assistance to lift my 20kg suitcase.

Nor even the taxi strike which meant I had to make my own way home from the train station. I was at one with the world as I skipped down the street atop my wheeled suitcase, shouting "Yeehah! Don't give up on me now Champyun old boy! The homestead's just over that thar rise".

No wonder my Dad is so relaxed and happy these days...

Brown Bottle on Tour

2005-06-24T12:00:00.000+02:00

To celebrate my 38th and Steve's 31st birthday, we took a trip to see Brazil v Japan in the Confederations Cup in Germany.

The match was excellent. Goals by latest Brazilian wonderboy Robinho and the sparkling Ronaldinho, and a spectacular last minute equaliser by Japan made it a night to remember. The evening was capped for me with an appearance by 80s Viz superhero Brown Bottle...

Team line-up

The stadium

Banzai!

My best action shot

Supporters take Japanese flag theme a bit too far...

Brown bottle approaches

The (fake) money shot

Leaving

Battlefield Re-enactment "Quite Good" Shock

2005-06-19T23:29:00.000+02:00

I'd normally assume that battlefield re-enactments are rather naff and amateurish. But this week's re-run of the battle at Plancenoit (part of the main Waterloo battle) proved me wrong.

Plancenoit is about 3 miles east of the main battlefield site at Mont St Jean, Waterloo, where the late arriving Prussians defeated the French defenders. There's a re-enactment here every year around the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. But despite living near the site for the last 4 years, I've never been to see it.

There are two reasons for this. Firstly, it starts at 9am on a Sunday morning, an hour generally considered to be entirely fictional by all right thinking people. Secondly, it's carried out by battlefield re-enactment types - so it must be amateurish rubbish. The latter statement is based on my acquaintance with a member of the Sealed Knot - an English group which dress up in roundhead and cavalier gear on their days off.

He was a short rotund 50-something who maintained a riotous and fulsome main of curly dark hair and a closely trimmed moustache and goatee in the cavalier style. He was also a bit of a plonker, and my perception of re-enactors was thus established. The thought of him and 2000 others like him (this is a pretty big event) marching around and playfighting for my enlightenment and entertainment was not appealing.

I was wrong.

Having decided that we really ought to go and see the spectacle at least once, we got up unfeasibly early this Sunday, drove the couple of miles to the outskirts of Plancenoit, and then walked to the centre of the village (a good mile further on). On the way we passed a number of infantry companies of various hue (Prussian, British, and Brunswick(ian?), and were passed by a couple of small groups of very impressive cavalry. Everything looked authentic (to my untutored eye at least) even though there were more than your average proportion of rotund 50-somethings of many nationalities. I always thought that being a 'camp follower' was pretty naff too - "something for the ladies" in true bobastic, chauvinistic XXXX fashion.

Mind you there was one particularly outstanding and 'authentic' camp follower - which made it worth the outing...

Parts of the battle were re-enacted in the village centre itself and then, with the French retreating, a large field outside the village. The noise and smoke of rifles and cannon was impressive, as was the organisation and the choreography of the combat which lasted about three hours! Though it lacked the real sense of horror and bloodiness of such a battle it seemed a fair demonstration of weapons, tactics, and formations. While two thousand participants couldn't be the same as the hundreds of thousands involved in the actual battle, you got a sense of what one small part of it would have been like.

With the temperature reaching 30ºC, we retired to the pub in the village for a welcome beer and Ben ran up and down a hill while we timed his attempts to break Asufa Powell's new 100m world record (he never stops).

Half an hour later, soldiers in uniform started arriving. Peeling off their woolen greatcoats and pack, I watched as one guy took off his shirt and wrung it out, leaving a small puddle on the cobbles. Fair play to them. They must all have been sweltering, but they had got on and done the job they came to do. And it was well worth seeing.

Re-enactment In Pictures

2005-06-19T23:10:00.000+02:00

The Dutch arrive

And the kilted ones

Prussian rifle company

Scots in battle prepare to raise kilts

The French attack

Prussian reserves to the rescue

Venice Photos Finally Uploaded

2005-06-19T22:49:00.000+02:00

I finally got round to uploading photos from our recent trip to Venice...

1. Here endeth the first lesson. On our first evening we spend a relaxing hour next to the Rialto bridge, only to get the bill...

How much?!

2. AFCCM on tour. Ben's football team deleguée (Anthony) secretly follows us to the Most Serene Republic to remind us that there's a tournament the following Saturday morning.

3. Il Duce. Lynne contemplates who will be first on her list to cross the Bridge to the dungeons when she is acclaimed 'Il Duce' of Brussels theatre.

Bridge of Sighs

4. Stranded on San Giorgio. We arrive on San Giorgio island to pay homage at the open air theatre shown clearly on the map. We hang around for an hour before finding that it is closed to the public, and have to get the waterbus back to San Marco.

San Marco from San Georgio

5. Teatro Goldoni. Glenn, trying to look like he is not staring at the breasts of the woman wandering by, realises he is in fact staring at the breasts of the man passing by.

Drama-Soc Days

2005-06-16T23:05:00.000+02:00

Just remembered that if I'd got my arse into gear I should have been spending the forthcoming weekend at a theatre workshop organised by the Irish Theatre Group, for whom I recently directed a play. "Moving towards performance" is a "two-part theatre workshop that seeks to develop an understanding both of how to explore a given text and also how to build towards a performance".

I was quite interested in it, despite my raging cynicism about arty-farty drama-soc types in leotards. But then I saw the website advertising it with this picture... and any lingering tendency to curiosity was vanquished.

Now imagine... Golden Shower!

Ciao Bella

2005-06-06T23:12:00.000+02:00

Just back from a few days in Venice for Lynne's birthday. Her initial question "so what do you do in Venice then?" was fully answered. It was the best holiday we'd spent for a long time, and even worth the 28 euro for four small beers next to the Rialto bridge.

Haven't got myself organised enough to upload photos yet but a quick web search produced this one that looks exactly like the one I took. Cool... but weird eh?. The wonders of modern technology. Don't see how the asian guy got in the picture, but we chilled and had coffee in that restaurant just behind him.

The more I think about it, the more this starts to look like a minituarised and technologically advanced full on Japanese revenge version of that old Bruce and Shez favourite "photocrashing". First this Japanese guy looms in front of the picture, then we seem to have been entirely wiped from the picture. A bit like IDS really...

Photocrash revenge

Production week

2005-05-01T17:58:00.000+02:00

Sunday 24 April:
Technical rehearsal. Arrive 2pm to be ready for start scheduled at 4pm. Start at 6pm. Realise that finally introducing the 23 sound cues takes some time to get right, and for the cast to get used to. Finish 11pm.

Monday 25 April:
Dress rehearsal. Oh God. I don't effin' believe it! Have they attended any rehearsals at all? Have they listened to anything I've said? I am reminded that due to cast changes, absences, illness this is the fourth time that we've had a rehearsal with everyone present. Yeh. So?

Tuesday 26 April:
Opening night. Stunning crowd of twenty people (Ok, so it's not that bad. Only sixty seats available in total). Anyway, since it's the first time I've even thought about ticket sales, I can't complain. Up to now it's been disguised by the deployment of a very effective SEP field. Director's view - terrible performance. Worst evening I've ever spent in the theatre. This is the first time I've had to let go and let them get on with it. Lynne's view - OK performance. Don't be such a drama queen. Feck!

Wednesday 27 April:
Having had a beer or four beforehand to dull the pain, I 'enjoy' the performance a bit more.

Thursday 28 April:
At last! What a relief. Full house (and from now on). Cast delivers the goods, with confidence. Still a hundred things I want to sort out but pretty good really.

Saturday 30 April:
Last night. Friday and Saturday equally good, though different audiences react surprisingly differently. Laughing in different places. Silent (but good silent) in others.

Overall I'm fairly pleased, though I spent the last couple of nights listing the things I would change/improve if I had another go. It went well. Lots of very positive reactions from the audience - though sometimes too generous if anything. Not that I give much of a toss about that. I'm such an egotist. Those views only count if they happen to agree with me.

I'm not likely to transfer to the West End anytime soon but I didn't disappoint myself. I might even do this again some time.

And They're Off...

2005-04-05T13:29:00.000+02:00

At last. The phoney campaign is over and now they can all get down to being generally phoney. Michael Howard has already gone haring down the starting straight by rudely starting his campaign before labour were ready. The man's an oik!

Still at least the latest polls have made it look a bit interesting, with the gap between Labour and Tories suddenly looking a lot smaller. Maybe the fear factor will help to get the voters interested so that we have a real campaign and a decent turnout this time. It's all too easy to be a wise cynic - even I can do it (see above). But the ads are right. If you don't take part - what have you got to complain about?

Go on

Competitive Dad

2005-03-31T08:04:00.000+02:00

It has been suggested by 'certain people' that I am an obsessively competitive dad, who could have easily subbed for Simon Day on the Fast Show. But if this were true I would not risk losing by imparting my "tips and tricks for success in Pro-Evolution Soccer 4" to my 9 year old son Ben, would I? Stands to reason.

Ben and Me

On the contrary, I think it's much more interesting to be challenged. For that reason, AND THAT REASON ALONE, I have challenged Ben to find his way out of his bedroom without a key before I get home from work this evening.

Now we'll see who's got "zero talent" eh?

Spongebob does Walibi

2005-03-30T23:33:00.000+02:00

My kids love cartoons and would be happy to spend all day glued to the TV if they were allowed. Spongebob Squarepants is their particular hero, and now he's coming to Belgium.

Walibi, a theme park in Wavre about 20 miles east of Brussels, has a new attraction for this summer - Bob l'éponge in 4D. Yes, that's 4D. Apparently this is a specially made 3D film with motorised seating so that the viewers experience the sensation of movement in Spongebob's underwater world.

Bob l'eponge

This of course means that I will be compelled to take Jake and Ben to Walibi again this summer in order that they can experience this new sensation. Last summer we went "en famille" with Steve, Jo, Dave and Jemima, and despite my better judgement, I rode the well-named "Dalton Terror" in a vain attempt to impress my kids.

This ride is simple. You're strapped into a seat, hoisted up the outside of a tower about 150 feet above the ground, and dropped. There is a moment of terror, then elation (when you realise you are still alive), followed by the rapidly growing discomfort of realising that you are now Spongebob Brownpants.

Proud to be Belgian

2005-03-29T23:41:00.000+02:00

Right after famousbelgians.net comes a new exhibition just opened in Brussels - "Made in Belgium". The exhibition, right in the centre of Brussels, celebrates 175 years since Belgian independance. According to the blub:

“Made in Belgium” is the label of a sensational Belgium, a land where everything can be achieved, where inventiveness is prolific, where creativity is exhilarating, a land that deserves a large-scale retrospective for the 175th anniversary of its independence.

Far from being nostalgic, the motto “Proud to be Belgian” will be the connecting thread of the “Made in Belgium” exhibition that is totally turned to the future.

In this spirit, “Made in Belgium” means to be a very attractive and friendly showcase, widely opened to a very broad public: schools, seniors, cultural associations or groups active in the field of continuing education.

To do so, “Made in Belgium” means to be an original and innovative exhibition, with a clear and expurgated language. This will make it accessible to the largest spectrum of people without harming its scientific quality.

Proud

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have a feeling it'll be excellent. I'm going. First chance I get...

Famous Belgians

2005-03-26T00:07:00.000+01:00

Marc Tielemans, presumably a patriotic Belgian*, is a little indignant at the idea that Belgium has not produced a large number of famous people. To put things right he created his own site www.famousbelgians.net to prove the doubters wrong.

Unfortunately he somewhat undermines his argument by producing a list of 259 famous Belgians, most of whom will be completely unknown to those of you living outside Belgium - and indeed many of those living here. Check out the list of 30 famous Belgians in the music world below. He starts of reasonably well, getting Django Reinhardt, Helmut Lotti (rubbish but admittedley famous), Plastic Bertrand (see earlier post) and Jacques Brel (check him out he was fabulous) in his top six. But it goes rapidly downhill from there.

Exhibit 1. 30 famous Belgian musicians:
1. Toots Thielemans, world-famous jazz musician
2. Jean Baptiste "Django" Reinhardt, inventor of the two-finger guitar playing technique
3. Helmut Lotti, international pop singer
4. Plastic Bertrand, punk/rock singer of 'Ca Plane Pour Moi' fame
5. Herman Schueremans, organiser of the famous annual Werchter Rock Festival
6. Jacques Brel, legendary chansonnier / singer
7. Adolphe Sax, inventor of the saxophone
8. Arthur Grumiaux, eminent violinist
9. Koen Wauters, leadsinger of the popular band "Clouseau"
10.Raymond van het Groenewoud, singer
11.Gilles Binchois, 15th century composer
12.Jef Denijn, campanology expert
13.César Auguste Franck, composer and organist
14.Orlando di Lasso, composer
15.Ivan Heylen, Flemish singer
16.Bobbejaan Schoepen, Flemish singer and owner of "Bobbejaanland" (real name Modest Schoepen)
17.Eddy Wally, world-famous Flemish singer also known as "The Voice of Europe"
18.Josquin des Prez, composer
19.Eugène Ysaýe, violinist, conductor and composer
20.Dani Klein, lead singer of Belgium's most successful band "Vaya Con Dios" (sold 10 million CD's)
21.Will Ferdi, singer and first Belgian personality to announce he is gay (real name Werner Ferdinande)
22.Henri Vieuxtemps, violinist and composer
23.André Grétry, composer
24.Cyprien de Rore, Belgian composer who produced the first score for voices
25.Esther Lambrechts, singer better known as "La Esterella"
26.Johannes Ockeghem, Flemish composer
27.Charles-Auguste de Bériot, violinist
28.Peter Benoit, composer and founder of the Royal Flemish Conservatory
29.Sandra Kim, youngest ever winner of the Eurovision Song Contest
30.Will Tura, Flemish singer (real name Arthur Blanckaert)

There are others in the list that I recognise, but it seems increasingly desperate. By the time he gets to 17, Eddy Wally, world-famous Flemish singer also known as "The Voice of Europe", you know it can only get worse.

But as far as I'm concerned, one of the things I like about Belgium is that it's not well known. It's there to be discovered. Perhaps I should go back to the list and start my research there.

*A fairly small band as it happens. Not because Belgians have nothing to be proud of, but because many consider themselves either Wallon or Flemish, rather than Belgian

Scarier still...

2005-03-23T19:55:00.000+01:00

On the very next page of my google image search for "Belgium"... Black Sabbath. Apparently this is the alternative cover of their single "Paranoid" when released here in Belgium. Bloody good thing it's a holiday weekend coming up. I think I need it.
Ozzie & co

Googling

2005-03-23T19:48:00.000+01:00

Did a quick google image search on the word "Belgium" today. The No. 1 result is below. Scarily accurate I would say.

A typical belgian scene

Belgian Eurovision entry

2005-03-21T23:25:00.000+01:00

Lookout Europe! Belgium has chosen its Eurovision entry. Nuno Resende, born in Portugal, but resident in Belgium since 1985 is set to carry on the country's proud tradition of success in that unrivalled showcase of European pop talent which takes place this year in Kiev.

The French-language television station RTBF selected this year's Belgian finalists out of 170 candidates (it's the Dutch speakers turn next year). The public watched performances from 31-year-old Nuno and his rival candidate 17-year-old Tiffany Ciely. Nuno finished just ahead of Tiffany in Sunday's televoting with a typical Eurovision-style number.

Nuno and rival Tiffany

Nuno Guilherme de Figueiredo Resende was born on 25th June 1973 in Porto (Portugal) and moved to Belgium with his family when he was 12. Nuno is fluent in Portuguese, French and English, and he also speaks some Spanish, Dutch and Italian.

Nono Hoper started his career in 1997. Spotted by a Swedish producer, he went to Sweden to record an album of 13 songs in English. The album however was never released. The same year he participated in Pour la gloire, a talent contest on RTBF won by Mélanie Cohl. Nono, Nono Nono became the lead singer of the group La Teuf which recorded singles such as Envie de faire la teuf, "A cause du sexe" and "Te quiero, ti amo, I love you, je t'aime". In 2000 La Teuf finished 6th in the Belgian national final with the song "Soldat d'amour". Do you see a pattern here - or is it just me.

However, to make the big finale on 21 May, Nono still has to get through the semi-final stage two days before. But promoter Bert de Spinnekopke is confident "If James Fox can get through to the final, anybody's got a shot" he said.

Belgium's proud history of Eurovision success includes first place, in 1986, for Sandra Kim with "J'aime La Vie", second place for Jean Vallée in 1978 with "L'amour, ça fait chanter la vie" and, second place for the delightfully incomprehensible Urban Trad in 2003 with "Sanomi". And if that doesn't impress, there's always Plastic Bertrand's classic - singing for Luxemburg - Amour, Amour (which came in 21st in 1987).

Has Monday ever felt so perfect?

2005-03-21T13:35:00.000+01:00

CARDIFF - The Western Mail says:

Monday morning in Wales has never felt so good. In fact, we reckon it's probably been, ooh, about 27 years since we've all got up from bed with such a big grin on our faces. Yesterday morning, we woke up as Grand Slam champions. Today we woke up as Grand Slam champions. Tomorrow, we'll wake up as... You get our point.

Triumphant Welsh pack

What a feeling! Try saying Grand Slam without saying Way-alls. Try saying Wales without smiling. You see, you can't. Yes, after 27 years without a Grand Slam the nation today finally has plenty to smile about as it commutes to schools, offices and factories across the land.

It was an occassion everyone had to be part of. The desperate fan at Cardiff Central Station on Saturday morning summed it up. The sign around his neck said "Ticket needed - will swap for sister"

Classes de neiges

2005-03-17T21:34:00.000+01:00

Belgian schools have a great tradition of classes de neiges (ski camp). In Jake's school this takes place in the sixth (final) year of primary - so it's his turn. He left for the French alps on Monday and we expect him back by the end of next week. Perhaps he'll have photos and stuff. In the meantime, here's a photo of my other Ski Sunday hero.

Franz Klammer

230 exams later...

2005-03-15T20:08:00.000+01:00

Life returned to normal in the Vaughan household this week (normal for us anyway) after Lynne completed her latest 'production'.

She runs a youth theatre with more than 60 kids in 4 groups and around this time of year they all do exams in verse & prose, acting, mime or DP (that's devised performance). So a couple of weeks ago, she embarked on a week of exams with all of them, followed immediately by their annual show - with a selection of the kids' performances and an entirely re-worked version of "The Slackers Guide to Western Theatre". Well you would wouldn't you? Err... no.

Much pain and heartache later she emerged with 60 inspired and successful kids (2 exams failed out of 230) and a mass of grateful (and entertained) parents.

She's not half bad.

Mr Icthyosaurus

Plaster cast update

2005-03-04T19:18:00.000+01:00

The plaster is off - after just over a week. Maybe I'm immortal after all! I only have to hobble around horribly subconsciously for another few weeks now. Trying to negotiate public transport over the past week has made me very aware of the shortcomings of disabled access here in Belgium (it's my right foot so I can't drive).

But I'm much more aware of how "normal" people (like me) usually see disabled people on the street. And I don't like being a cripple.

Achilles' Toe

2005-03-03T21:40:00.000+01:00

Now I know that my youth has passed. I am no longer invulnerable.

Last week, I fractured a bone in my toe and had to have a plaster cast for the first time in my life.

Now I had a pretty ordinary childhood. I climbed trees, had fights, did Evil Knevil impressions (disastrous attempt to jump thirteen matchbox buses on my pushbike), played school and sunday league football, kicked down doors, got drunk and fell over walls / down stairs, got married etc.

Not once in all this did I ever break a bone or require stitches. Plasters, crepe bandages and "there there" kisses from my Mum were about the limit of the medical interventions required.

I'm therefore all the more pissed off that my injury did not come in the form of a horrific but miraculous survival of a car crash, or heroically saving an injured puppy from an on-rushing juggernaut. Rather, it was a vicious and unprovoked attack by... a table.

You may remember that I'm directing a play at the moment. Whilst demonstrating how I wanted an intense and threatening scene played with "energy and commitment", I kicked the said table. Instead of flying dramatically across the rehearsal room, the table cunningly contrived to be 20 kilos heavier than I expected it to be, and fell over with a loud bang. The subsequent playing of the scene was excellent, but it only lasts two minutes. On the other hand, my foot will take six weeks to heel.

My Nemesis

More importantly, it's official. I can be harmed by the base and mortal world. And occasional furniture.

Keep it Boring Sven

2005-02-10T08:41:00.000+01:00

Another week, another turgid England friendly with a scratch team grinding out an uninspiring 0-0 draw against Holland.

Still - maybe turgid is good.

The once great Red Devils, Belgium's national football team, were beaten 4-0 in a friendly match played in Cairo on Wednesday evening. The first half of the match looked promising for the Belgian team with a first goal by Thomas Buffel, refused (unjustly, according to outraged Belgian commentators) by the referee for off-side. But the Egyptians rose to the challenge and scored one goal before half time (El Sayed in the 31st minute). The second half turned out to be disastrous for the Red Devils who were down 3-0 by the 53rd minute of the game with a final goal scored by Egyptian Hosni in the 80th minute.

This was the Belgium's last preparatory match before playing World Cup 2006 qualifiers against footballing giants Bosnia-Herzogovina on March 26 and San Marino on March 30.

Oh dear...

Welsh Rugby Fan Cuts Off Testicles After Win

2005-02-09T22:58:00.000+01:00

LONDON (Reuters) - A Welsh rugby fan cut off his own testicles to celebrate Wales beating England at rugby, the Daily Mirror has reported.

Geoff Huish, 26, was so convinced England would win Saturday's match he told fellow drinkers at a social club, "If Wales win I'll cut my balls off", the paper said on Tuesday. Friends at the club in Caerphilly, south Wales, thought he was joking.

Wales's subsequent 11-9 victory over England at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff was their first home win over England in 12 years.

So after the game Huish went home, severed his testicles with a knife, and walked 200 metres back to the bar with the testicles to show the shocked drinkers what he had done.

Huish was taken to hospital where he remained in a seriously ill condition, the paper said. Police told the paper he had "a history of mental problems". No kiddin'?!

That must make him the 'only eunuch in the village'. Let's hope so eh.

Temptation

2005-02-08T19:18:00.000+01:00

A quick update on my attempt to give up smoking. I fell off the wagon in fairly spectacular fashion on Saturday. I had my first cigarette approaching half time, with the score at Wales 8 - 6 England . By the time Gavin Henson put the penalty over (78 mins) to take Wales back into the lead - I'd had about six more.

Welsh running back (for a fag)

The surprising thing was that I didn't even vaguely enjoy them. Normally a cigarette after having tried to give up is heavenly for me. So I haven't had one since then, and it feels like my relapse never happened...

Politiczzzz...

2005-02-06T23:27:00.000+01:00

In 1997, the tawdry Tory world of my youth was overthrown. I was exultant for a time. While New Labour's policies weren't always as radical as I'd have liked them to be, my job close to government and politics made me more conscious of the art of the possible. A second landslide in 2001, confirmed my feeling that a less traditional labour route could deliver a progressive(ish) agenda - and what's more - lock the Tories out forever.

The more un-electable the Tories got - the less interested in politics I became. To the point where I was falling asleep. But I have begun to have troubled nights recently, and its not nightmares about Michael Howard in government that's doing it. It's a much more clear and present danger than that. Yes... (drop a semi-tone, Huw Edwards serious face, pause) it's global warming.

The fact that I have trouble taking this seriously myself indicates how difficult it is to deal with. Climate change as an issue has a number of facets that make it difficult to address.

Nobody really knows for sure how bad it will get, or how quickly. So it's very difficult to judge what kind of political compromise will be needed to produce a solution. The worst predictions suggest it's already too late. The best - that there's no need to do anything. What's more, it'll take at least 30 years for any changes we make now to have an effect on CO2 levels.

But the balance of predictions is getting steadily worse. That means that any remedial measures would have to be more dramatic and painful for everyone. Which makes them more difficult to agree to.

It's completely international in terms of both inputs and outputs - so the majority of countries in the world have to adopt similar actions. Getting a worldwide agreement on something that could have positive, and quite quick, outcomes for pretty much everybody is difficult enough. Just look at the trade negotiations over the last 30 years.

With the uncertainty over climate change and the measures required to combat it, an international agreement (worth having) looks virtually impossible. This is the killer problem. It's so difficult that it might as well be impossible. And the US will never agree to anything anyway.

So why bother? Why worry...

Ah yes. My children. Bugger.

The balance of predictions suggests that I'll probably miss the worst of it myself. But they won't.

Now don't think I'm getting all greenham commony about this. I am not about to braid my hair with beads (no sniggering as you picture this please) or take to wearing sloganising T shirts - unless they are post-modernistically ironic (or The Human League). I have had my dungaree period - and I am over it. Even the worst predictions are not bad enough for me to share a composting toilet with three other caravans... and you know what you can do with your VW camper van. Yes. Really. Right up.

But I'm starting to feel that it's insupportable to do nothing too. And doing something means waking up.

Eco Warrior? I don't think so...

Move over Peter Hall

2005-01-20T22:46:00.000+01:00

I directed my first play in 2001 and found it fascinating, challenging, painful, fun, and very worthwhile. So why has it taken me four years to get around to it again?

One possible explanation is that I was so completely awful as a director that I had to wait this long so that everyone else involved in my production of Patrick Marber's "Dealer's Choice" had died or left the country in order to be allowed to have another go. Alternatively, my demonstrable genius so wrankled with my more mortal peers, that I was prevented by jealousy from presenting my next masterpiece. I'll leave you to decide (when to present my lifetime achievement award).

Anyway, I am finally going to direct again. This time for the Irish Theatre Group in Brussels. The play is Paula Meehan's "Mrs Sweeney" and it's a tragedy of the everyday (or dead pigeons, something like that). Colin Farrell will play the hero, but I've decided to leave out the homosexual references and the peroxide (sorry Colin). Kate Winslett will take the role of Mrs Sweeney (Brenda Blethin is not available).

Auditions for the remaining roles weekend after next. Watch this space!

Dealer's Choice 2001

'Ave a Banana?

2005-01-17T19:55:00.000+01:00

Whilst in London for a brief visit to Uncle Simon (Griggy) for the New Year, we went to see Alladin at the Hackney Empire. It was an excellent traditional panto with all the unmissable standard fare (like constant joke mispronunciations of the baddy's name (Abanazer - 'Ave a banana etc.) as well as a right up-to-date "homeboy" Wishie Washie, and all the local references (Ha-ke-nay in old Peking). Great stuff. It makes you proud to be British.

Is that really OJ?

Lady Killers

2005-01-17T19:28:00.000+01:00

Certain other people have suggested they have the cutest kids. So I throw down the gauntlet here with photos of Ben (below) and Jake. All they have to do now is learn to recite Byron ("God's were created - and women swooned").

Cute Kid

A Sinner Saved... for the Moment

2005-01-14T19:26:00.000+01:00

As a newly converted and completely self-righteous non-smoker I was amazed to learn that until last month it was still legal for children to buy cigarettes in Belgium. It's now illegal to sell cigarettes to under 16s, but so far the government has not carried out any inspections to ensure the law is being implemented. According to the Department of Health, shopkeepers must be given time to get used to the new rules and inspections will be carried out in due course.

I have regularly been approached by youths on the street and asked for a fag and initially - in shock - gave them one. Kids under 16 are still not forbidden to smoke (in public or anywhere else), so a ban on retailers selling them is unlikely to make much of a difference.

Attitudes in Belgium are some way behind Britain on this point and it's still the kind of place where it is entirely normal to smoke. Cigarettes are ridiculously cheap - though this was of course convenient when I myself smoked.

I hope I'll stay a non-smoker, but either way the situation here has got to change. If it does I'm more likely to stay a non-smoker, or try to quit again sooner. The government here is starting to talk about big increases in taxes. Total bans on smoking in public places, and the £5 packet of 20 cannot be that far away.

The only sign in the village

2005-01-13T20:59:00.000+01:00

The village featured in the BBC hit comedy programme Little Britain has urged the Welsh Assembly Government to come to its aid.

Three signs in Llanddewi-Brefi in Ceredigion, home to Daffyd - "the only gay in the village" - have been stolen in recent weeks. The village has gained "notoriety" and local politicians want the assembly government to stump up for the signs.

In the Assembly chamber on Wednesday, Ceredigion AM Ms Elin Jones asked Local Government Minister Sue Essex: "I am not sure whether you have ever been to Llanddewi-Brefi in my constituency, but it has received a degree of notoriety in recent years.

"The three village signs were stolen before Christmas, and today Daffyd's phrase that he is 'the only gay in the village' has been voted the best ever catchphrase, which will only increase its notoriety.

"What support can you give to the community council in Llanddewi-Brefi indealing with such international publicity, and in possibly having to face permanently replacing their Llanddewi-Brefi village signs?"

In response, Ms Essex said she hoped the village could gain the benefits of notoriety without worrying too much about the downside.

"I would be happy to go with you any time to search for the signs," added Ms Essex.

Local entrepreneur Dai "the Sign" Jones commented "I don't know what all the fuss is. Just send Sue down to my lock-up 'n' I'll sort her out with a nearly new one in no time"

Source (ish): bbc.co.uk

Mike Cockburn

2005-01-05T13:07:00.000+01:00

Mike, co-founder (with Lynne) of TIE died as a result of cancer of the liver just after New Year. He was a charming and caring man, and a lot of people miss him very much. There 's no eulogy here, I just wanted to mark his passing.

Mike in Jim Cartwright's "Road"

Christmas markets

2004-12-19T23:02:00.000+01:00

I like Christmas. I just hate Christmas markets.

I'm a practicing non-believer, so the festive season is not about religion for me personally. But since it promotes a general feeling of good will - that's OK.

But no amount of re-runs of "A Christmas Carol", whether re-versioned with Eastenders' Grant Mitchell (surprisingly good) or even the Muppets (saved by Gonzo's performance), can assuage my humbug feelings when it comes to Christmas markets.

Unfortunately Belgium is hooked on them. They're everywhere - and getting bigger every year. The Brussels market takes up the whole of Place St Catherine - a huge wide avenue which used to be the site of a canal quay in the centre of Brussels, and is therefore surrounded by fabulous seafood restaurants. It looks beautiful, with an ice rink in the centre surrounded by little wooden huts, and a massive Ferris wheel giving spectacular views over the whole Dickensian scene. It's not the sugar sweet imagery that I dislike but the actual content. For, underneath all the mulled wine and stapled-on snow covered rooftops, it's really... a CRAFT market.

I hold it to be a self evident truth that craft markets are spawned by Satan. They fill our homes with crappy little hand-made pieces of tat that could not possibly make it across the threshold without being disguised as "authentic peasant craftmanship". Even worse, the stalls are often populated by the people who actually made this rubbish. They have that fake humble pride in their little offerings and would love to tell you all about the history of each article and how they made it.

I just want to say, in a tone of awe and wonder "You made this yourself?". And when they nod deprecatingly, I want to lean over conspiratorially and mumble "You sad bastard".

Schoolboy (11) breaks breathing record

2004-12-03T23:06:00.000+01:00

On Thursday 2nd of December 2004, Jake was 11 years old. As well as loads of cards and prezzies from the family, we celebrated in (grown up) style at our local Chinese restaurant.

Jake, in a fair rendition of a manic street preacher (his favourite band of the moment but I'm hoping to introduce him to the more up-tempo Leonard Cohen soon), talked continuously throughout the meal about "the scariest movies ever". In the process breaking the world record for the longest period without taking a breath - 1 hour 35 minutes.

Nice one Smashy

We were treated to a dissertation on "The censors' classification of films in Britain and Belgium since 1920" and a further enlightening lecture on "Why Predator is a better movie than Predator II". All this liberally spiced with observations on the classification of film genres and "Psycho - the first true horror film".

This despite the fact that he has seen almost none of the movies featuring in these theses - which some people would consider to be a handicap.

I, on the other hand, understand the value of such ignorance, and took the conversational initiative by maintaining that the most disturbing thing ever seen on TV was the 1970s "Black Beauty" series - a point on which very few people disagree (at least of those that I have talked to). Jake nodded sagely, lulling me into over-confidence, while cleverly under-cutting me by noting "But that's not a film Dad, so it doesn't count".

"So now you're eleven you think you can take on your elders and betters in the noble art of wordplay eh" I thought. I responded in the only way I know how. With wit and gentle humour I sashayed into the fray: "Shut your face short-arse!".

Real Lives 2

2004-11-26T18:36:00.000+01:00

Along the same lines as my earlier posting... Ma Baker (she taught her four sons) centre stage - as ever.

Da family

Real Lives

2004-11-25T23:28:00.000+01:00

I've just reaquired an album of photos taken by my mate Mark last year (originals lost in house fire). It's full of often unflattering, but brilliant pictures that give little insights into our lives. This is my favourite. It looks like the publicity photo for a real lives type documentary - or an article in The Guardian Society section. I love it. (Sorry Steve!)

Reality TV hit

Are you gettin' it?

2004-11-25T23:20:00.000+01:00

Belgians in their 60s are a surprisingly sexually active group, according to researchers at the University of Leuven.

Almost half those aged between 60 and 69 say they have sex once a week, according to the study reported in Flemish (Dutch language) newspapers De Standaard, Het Volk and Het Nieuwsblad this week. Psychiatrist Joen Detenaere, was astonished that senior couples were so sexually active. "This must make Belgians the sexiest people on the planet" he said (probably) "so how come I'm not seeing any action".

Ah well...

Not getting any - Prof. Detenaere

Super Suburban Shez

2004-11-24T23:15:00.000+01:00

After recently getting back in touch with my old friend Bruce, I met up with another long lost good friend - Shez - last week. It had been a lot longer since I last saw him. I seem to remember meeting up in a naff Redditch "wine bar" around 8 years ago and feeling deeply depressed that we had nothing to say to each other.

So meeting up felt a bit more risky, but I was encouraged by reading his blog and the exchange of emails that followed.

In fact it was a bit hesitant when we met again, in the salubrious surroundings of the Rising Sun pub in Redditch. But it got easier, and by the end of the evening we were putting the world to rights and agreeing on pretty much everything - and we weren't even pissed!

It even turned out that he's been living about 100 metres from my parents house for the last three years, and I could have walked into him on the street on any visit home.

So I agree with Shez on yet another point. The web is great for keeping up with mates and renewing old friendships (I can't spell "acquantances" either). Oh yes... and the porn too.

P.S. Looking again at Shez's blog I see the beginning of a post-modern feeding frenzy here - with increasingly self-referential blog articles. Perhaps I should make a resolution to actually speak to people too. Hmm. Radical.

The Belgian national debt

2004-11-24T19:52:00.000+01:00

A couple of weeks ago I took a walk down the canal a few miles from my house and found the Belgian national debt. Just lying there it was... in the form of the Canal du Centre.

It was built during the 1950s and 60s to link the coalfields and heavy industry of the Charleroi region with Brussels and the port of Antwerp. It's not a canal like those in Britain - a puny little stream built for narrow boats - but a 30m wide channel for enourmous barges like those on the Rhine. The canal's equivalent of locks are equally imposing engineering feats worthy of Brunel. The awesome "inclined plane" at Ronquieres pulls a water tank 90m long and 12 m wide, up a slope for 1300 metres - the boats travel in this. The canal was finished at the end of the sixties but by the nineties virtually all of the industry it served had disappeared. I haven't done in-depth research but it seems a fair bet that the huge investment in the canal was never remotely repaid in jobs and workers wages.

Rather it just added to the Belgian national debt which was around 160% of annual GDP when Belgium came to join the Euro (more than twice the supposed limit). Luckily, a truly "European compromise" meant that Belgium (and Italy amongst others) got over that hurdle by showing that they were "trying really hard - honest".

But who can really say if it was worth it anyway? I walked down the canal, past the Forges de Clabecq . This huge 100 year old plant employed 5,000 people at the end of the seventies and closed in 1997. Walking through the middle of it today, in virtual silence, is an eerie experience. But the investment in the canal probably kept it open a lot longer than it otherwise would have been. It may have been ultimately unsuccessful, but the long struggle to keep such industries going was more dignified, and much more human, than the brutal destruction of coalfield communities in Thatcher's Britain.

Forges de Clabecq

Spoiled rotten

2004-11-08T23:55:00.000+01:00

Jake & Ben spent a "really cool" week chez Nan and Grandad last week. They arrived back with new haircuts, new coats and clothes, and new games, having received the prodigal son(s) treatment from the whole family (including aunts and uncles, and cousins).

Amongst the goodies they gathered was a stash of Cadbury's chocolate. This is a weird thing, because if there's anything great about Belgium it's the chocolate. But they've loved Cadbury's ever since they went to CadburyLand in Bourneville last year. I'm not sure whether this is to do with the venue itself or the experience of visiting it with the bizarre and wonderful Auntie Emma, who takes the fruitcake to new gourmet heights.

But amongst all this pleasure there was one outstanding highlight - going to Worcester on Grandad's bus! I cannot explain why this is so special. Except to say that I instantly remembered the feeling, from the same journey on my Dad's bus, more than 25 years ago...

Thanks Grandad

Napoleon Meets his Braine

2004-11-03T19:45:00.000+01:00

On 18 June 1815, the Emperor Napoleon was defeated by the combined armies of Blücher and Wellington and a Eurovision legend was born. Though not primarily a song contest, the battle of the bands at Mont-Saint-Jean, Braine l'Alleud, gave rise not only to beauty and the beasts Swedish pop sensation Abba, but a string of hits including the West End spectacular "Les Miserables", and oo-aar-ing beat combo the Wurzles "Where's my Wellington" (probably). But, in an all too familiar example of the winners writing the history, they named it the "Battle of Waterloo" - presumably because Braine l'Alleud didn't scan so well.

So now, when I tell friends in Britain where I live, they look blank. Even though the site of one of the most famous battles in history lies about a mile from our house.

The battlefield today

Lad's Weekend

2004-11-02T20:56:00.000+01:00

Both left at home for the holiday weekend (All Saints) by our respective partners, Steve and I were up for a full-on two days of non-stop lad's stuff. There would be football, beer, more football and more beer, and of course the full compliment of strenuous extreme sports activities.

Ah yes - and Jemima (Steve's two year old), who was there too of course. Oh.

Well it was a sacrifice - but when you're a responsible adult you have to give up some things...

Iron Mike and Me

2004-10-31T21:08:00.000+01:00

Lynne (my wife) and I never argue…

Instead we have extended silences which I, pretty much without exception, lose. I accept that this is largely because I am normally in the wrong, but it's also partly because I’m just not tough enough. Someone famously (well famous within the admittedly small confines of my friends and family) said “my God that woman can wait!”. I do not demure. When it comes to these encounters , I am by comparison, an eight stone weakling. My opponent is Mike Tyson - with a mean streak.

Cunningly, I have instead decided to adopt the Frank Bruno tactic. I will wait until Mike (and all the other decent heavyweights) are past it and retired - then launch my successful bid for the world title belt.

Jake 1 Argentina 0

2004-10-29T22:13:00.000+02:00

My beautiful son Jake (10) proved he could overcome his own nemesis in style today - bringing home a brilliant bulletin (school report). He's had a tough time since the fire that burned down our house last year - and connected or not - his grades have suffered too.

Goaaaaaaaaaaaallllll !!!

But today he bounced out of class, having returned to winning ways. He may not have the finesse of "Goldenballs" on the pitch, but he's every bit as brave, and an awful lot more cleverer, and I'm very proud of him. Well done Jake!

Protest days

2004-10-29T13:01:00.000+02:00

My office is near the centre of Brussels, just around the corner from the Regional and Federal Parliaments, which gives me a ringside seat for every major demo in the city. Belgians like a good demo and they're almost always colourful, loud and entertaining. They like it so much that everyone wants to join in.

This morning was a good example. We had an official one day strike by workers on buses, trams and metro, the same as last Friday. Quite a few just couldn't wait and launched wildcat strikes yesterday - shutting down virtually all bus services. They were joined today by up to 3000 DHL employees who closed down major junctions on the central ring road this morning. This caused complete traffic chaos, given that so many extra people have taken to their cars. Finally, their ranks were swelled by protesting Volkswagen workers, and dockers from Antwerp and Zeebrugge.

All tooled up...

This morning I watched the crowd give the police a healthy and reasonably good humoured barracking as they blocked the route to the Parliament. The man at the fireworks shop had obviously had a particularly good day, and firecrackers were going off everywhere. They all had coats, hats, flags, scarves of the right colour (red or green), and whistles of course.

The police, as always, seemed well prepared - if a little 'high-profile' for comfort. They park their paddy waggons and reinforcements in our street and today they had the water cannon wagons facing up to the crowd too. Officers were in full riot gear and the streets were criss crossed with concrete barriers and barbed wire fences (ok, so the US Embassy - another regular target for demos - is about 50 metres away too).

But though it looks very confrontational, there was very little real trouble, and there rarely is. Perhaps the police are part of the ritual - the fun. It's gotta be a bit edgy. It gives you the adrenalin rush. I suspect that rather than just maintaining order, they fulfil a further function - making people feel they're being taken seriously.

No nostalgia please...

2004-10-25T20:19:00.000+02:00

A few months ago I met up with an old friend, Bruce, after a few years without any contact. I kind of knew where he was, somewhere near Birmingham, but didn’t have a telephone number or email address. I just didn’t get around to making contact. You know how it is. Anyway I rediscovered him from one of those friends of friends networking sites. It compared my, much out of date, address book with its own network, and as if by magic, there was his email address.

A quick exchange of emails, and a week later I’m arriving at his house at the end of a business trip (conveniently near B’ham airport for my flight home the next day). I was somewhat apprehensive about how we would get on after such a long time. You never know what it’s going to be like. We were good friends at school but that was err… some time ago.

What a nonce I am! There I was fingering my (metaphorical) worry beads and nursing my crappy little insecurities. In fact, my biggest concern was that Bruce would be an uncompromising unreconstructed student Marxist and CND type and that this would cruelly expose my own shift to middle class namby pamby Blairite liberal. Like that would be the worst thing that could happen.

In fact, right from the beginning we just talked like mates. Of course it didn’t do any harm that we are both now married with kids and dealing with regular thirtysomething type issues - but even so we ‘clicked’ without even thinking about it. Even better, he was just as vaccilating and confused about Iraq as I - it's obviously a fuck up, but Saddam was a dangerous mad bastard (with or without WMD).

Around 2am, we got discussing what a relief it was that we’d talked for hours and hardly mentioned the past. An early resort to nostalgia would have been the first indication that we had little to say to each other here and now – and that wouldn't be much of a basis for a friendship.

Inevitably we then spent at least another hour reminiscing – but that’s ok too. I finally went to bed just in time to get up for my flight (or so it seemed). I got home around midday, exhausted, hung over, but refreshed too.