After few more hot and blistering Spanish dates, we got home to Blighty after two nights of very little sleep due to early morning travel starts after very late shows. Had to help organise the Spanish fan club people for after-shows but they were all very well behaved and easy-going. Some "meet-and-greets" as they are known in the trade, are truly frightening. Pushy, grabbing, middle-aged old tossers trying to get their entire record collection signed and then moaning worse than the old bag when, on the strict orders of the Hitlerian Mr A, I restrict them to only one autograph each (plus photo - if they can remember how to work their cameras...). Pushy, grabbing, middle-aged old tossers should be restricted to House Of Commons where they belong. I should know; I was one of them. Or, perhaps, the wine and drinks section of the Clutterbury branch of Waitrose.
I got two autographs despite the advices thrown by the giant who goes everywhere with the band and also performs the funny prostate sequence. Ian might have recongised me as Janu from the Tull Board. LOL.
The other signed by Ian one was already posted by me at the San Javier thread.
This one I've displayed here holds some other emotive autographs I'll comment later on.
pd. The Spanish Tapas are far better than the Indian menus. Prices in Spain still are reasonable until September I reckon
I agree with Sergi to the Tullianos of Sant Feliu, Ian signed 2 or 3 times if we asked, I took 3 signatures and one for a pretty girl who had no backstage, was talking to us about the convention and other topics, was shown relaxed and friendly with everyone (that if, all the backstage was Tullianos lol) In my post of Sant Feliu'll post the pictures and you will see that their behavior was really nice to us, although accompanied by the giant... P.S.This is my backstage signed by Ian, the other firms will have to wait to finish the post of Sant Feliu
Joined: Jul 2011 Gender: Male Posts: 2,952 Location: North Carolina, U.S.A.
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #21 on Aug 19, 2012, 6:42am »
August 6, 2012 Previous Entries May 28th - June 5th - June 17th - July 4 - July 18 The Bostock Diaries
GB TAKES TO THE ROAD! Part 6 - Torture Chambers and Festivals
Latest news from the lyric writer of the original "Thick as a Brick" I sat reflecting on the darker side of the species last night in the bowels of a castle in Luxembourg. There was a rack for stretching bodies to breaking point, a screw-down device for smashing hands, a bench with spiked rollers where tied victims were once dragged, lacerated to their confessional doom. Where, oh where, was this equipment when it could have extorted a more heartfelt response from Bob Diamond of the Libor-fixing scandal? Or Meester Tony over the Iraq pre-war intelligence?
A dreary combo called Magna Carta opened the show and ran over time by 15 minutes causing Anderson to vent his spleen and utter words of apoplectic rage. Like, "Bother", "Goodness me" and the like. Plus a little more colourful language too extreme even for the Commons Brawl at PM's Questions.
The next night's show at the beautiful Beaufort Castle in the Grand Duchy was to feature Blackmore's Night. Yes, he, Ritchie of Deep Purple fame and re-cast as medieval troubadour in the goode companye of his singing damsel, the fine-bodied Candice. I was made aware that Anderson and Blackmore are old pals, sort of, and have a fine regard for each other. Apparently, Candice and bairn were in the audience at some point in the evening and Mr A instructed me to seek her out for an audience with Himself in the Castle tower dressing room - make that vault - after the show but she had left by then, I was reliably informed. Anderson signed a poster in the octagonal vault wishing them a Merrye Post-prandial Soiree. Blackmore was tied up (bondage party?) in the City Of Luxembourg doing interviews and the inevitable eulogising of poor Jon Lord who passed away a few days ago after a year-long battle with pancreatic cancer.
Ritchie B has a reputation for evil ways. Legends abound with tales of mis-deeds and dastardly, scoundrel behaviour. But, as is so often the case, in reality he is a reet ol' pussycat if you get a one-on-one and ask him what kind of guitar picks he uses. Must remember to mention that to Ian Gillan if I ever meet him. Sartorial delight informs the Blackmore's poster. I can't help but think of Sean Connery in The Name Of The Rose movie....
Then we drove off for two long hours through the long and chilly Summer night to Koblenz in two bumpy vans. Then a few short hours sleep in a perfectly pleasant small hotel with cot-like single beds. This meant I had to leave Rapunzel behind. Having rescued her from the tall and turreted tower, it seemed a shame, but she would have been out of her comfort zone in the real world and amidst the bursting luggage in the bumpy van. How could I leave Rapunzel's behind? (To quote, albeit loosely, from Spinal Tap's assault upon anal decency in the song "Big Bottom" from the rockumentary, if you will, back in the 80s.) But I woke this morning early to find I have still telltale shreds of blond, Teutonic hair under my fingernails. Was it all a dream? Rapunzel, let down thy hair. Next time, my busty blond escapee, let down thy knickers as well. Just don't tell the Old Bag....
A frantic festival followed in Burg Herzberg with a bunch of noisy, well-meaning buffoons strutting their metal and punk stuff in the rain. Irritating bunch of trouble-makers. Like the CON back-benchers on a works pouting.
Had an email from Prof Stewart Wood - Lordie-oh-lordie Wood as he now is, elevated to higher station in the hallowed halls of The Lords. Ex-advisor to El Gordo (Brown) and now to the affable, equine Mr Ed. Off in a couple of weeks, for his sins, real and imagined, to both the Republican AND Democratic Conventions in the USA as official, honoured guest representing our glorious Labour Party.
I had a racy and imaginative idea: the Old Bag might be persuaded to take a heady sojourn with her old flame from The Guardian years, Godfrey Pitcher. He is a wine buff and knows of several distant vineyards in the Dordogne where early bed and late breakfast are cheap and there are no phones or internet available for her to check on me. The naughty Reverend P might just distract her long enough for me to meet up with Lord Woody in Charlotte NC and have burger and fries and a quick ciggie behind the bike shed with that Irish-American President chappie, O'Bama. Will ask Mr A if he needs me in that week. He doesn't pay well but does engender a certain loyalty. First call on services, at least for a while.
As tour manager, I have to check the up-coming flights and seat reservations for the trip home and the worrying outward to Krakow in august with Cheesy-jet. They of the extortionate excess baggage charges. Then - touchy matter this - do research and due diligence on a couple of charitable entities as recipients of the Israel concerts fees. Anderson gives the proceeds to registered charities fostering co-education between Israeli Jews, Palestinians and Christians. Says he won't take the money himself and feels strongly that so-called "boycotting" does nothing to change things. Israeli government cares little or nothing for who comes to perform and who doesn't. But investing in the future of mutual respect and understanding of opposing religious and cultural groups is worth supporting.
He received an email last week inviting him (us?) to Kabul (yes - the Afghanistan one) next year to perform. Where will it end? Benefit concerts for the homeless of the Planet Downoutus, orbiting around a distant star in the belt of Orion? Fundraisers for the Vatican? The Help-An-Immigrant-Have-More-Babies Free Concert in Hyde Park? Pocket the dosh, pay your taxes and enjoy the beer, skittles and a stiff curry, I say. Fine Socialist principles which trump all fake, do-gooder prattle and pomp. Stick that in your pipe Mr Bono. Don't get me started.
Over and Out. GB signing off. Kisses and Leberknodel, you rascals.
PS - Do Queasy-jet do Speedy Boarding for bass-player and drummers? Will they they fit in the overhead locker? Or do I actually have to buy the buggers tickets?
Joined: Jul 2011 Gender: Male Posts: 2,952 Location: North Carolina, U.S.A.
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #22 on Aug 19, 2012, 6:57am »
August 13, 2012 Previous Entries May 28th - June 5th - June 17th - July 4th - July 18th - Aug 6th The Bostock Diaries
GB TAKES TO THE ROAD! Part 7 - Breton Madness and Norwegian Odyssey
Latest news from the lyric writer of the original "Thick as a Brick" In mid-air as I write this. FlyBe from Brest to Birmingham. TheTAAB troupe sought to trouble a Folkie Fest in Quimper last night. A one-off in a beautiful little town in Brittany. Many Celtic and other acts from all-over-the-place converged for the few days of www.festival-cornouaille.com which featured many household names from the folk world. Meaningless to me, however as I don't much like the noodling, fiddling, warbling, clogs-and-sandals brigade. Need a good shower and a change of underpants for the most part. Heard a few bits and bobs during the evening before our show when a few of us ventured into town from our hotel some two km away on the motorway fringe.
A tranquil river, The Odet, runs through the town and hosts strange, exotic, lazy fish who swam aimlessly with snouts (do fish have snouts?) raised above the water, perhaps gasping for breath in the clear shallows in the heat of the evening. Not salmon, for sure. Maybe pike, I was told. But these estuarine waters fill with the incoming tide and so they must be friends of the brackish environment, unless they swim upstream twice a day to escape the salty influx... Must ask Anderson. Maybe he knows what they were. A good honest worm, hook and line would have revealed all.
On the following morning I paid a brief visit to the Cathedral in the company of tourists with flash cameras and stumbled (with the help of Mr Google) on the Maharaja, local Indian of ill-repute. Actually, quite respectable food and mercifully empty and serving air-conditioned beer. Then back to the tented venue to set up the dressing rooms and help Chris Archer with the organisation of transport, run some errands for band and crew and supervise catering and dressing room drinks and so on. Quite fun in a servile, factotum sort of way. Not sure if I can make a career of this. Perhaps something higher up the ladder. Like bottle-washer. Bed-maker. Baggage-wallah. Member for Clutterbury North?
Baggage-wallah on the run, literally, as we were deposited by our taxis on a blistering hot morning outside Brest Airport to a sizeable crowd of passengers, airport personnel and security staff. No one was allowed within 300 metres of the evacuated building due to a bomb scare, so we waited in stoic fashion, uncomplaining to the last. And some of us were not even British. After an hour, we were marshalled in, to a chaotic, frantic check-in and enormous security queue for the x-ray machines complete with extra levels of body searching. Bad enough The Old Bag finding my copies of Politics Uncovered Magazine last month in the potting shed (the one with the delightful centrefold pin-up of her loveliness, The Honourable Member for Gropingham Central). Getting frisked and frolicked by the Gallic Garde and having my Big Girls In Uniform July Bumper Edition confiscated would simply have too much to bear. Anderson's flute got the once-over, twice. Too phallic for the Gallic, I imagine.
Finally to the departure gate with minutes to spare when, on the verge of boarding delayed only because of a stuck elevator and a disabled passenger, the PA rang out with another evacuation message. Bugger me stiff with a red hot poker but out we were turfed into the July heat yet again and sent packing across the tarmac, out of the airport perimeter fence on to the road side to await further instruction.
No explanation and another interminable wait until a muffled explosion was heard from somewhere out on the tarmac apron. Cheers from the airport staff who knew more than we, obviously. I muttered to young Florian that it was probably a controlled explosion involving his guitar case and a carefully placed modest slug of Semtex. He was not amused.
At last, the awaited call to muster - back towards bloody check-in and security all over again. This time, we were ready and, as the waiting passenger hordes received the army and police barricade approval to proceed, we sprinted, like the start of the London Olympic Marathon, for the prime position at the head of the security queue. Whole damn thing all over again and FlyBe waited, God bless their little Embraer 195, for us all to board before setting off, two hours delayed. Poor Florian, Bavarian Guitar-meister, set off for an obviously-missed Air France connection in Paris and will hopefully make it home late tonight to Munich, just in time to leave again for his Lufthansa flight tomorrow to Oslo for a Norwegian Festival. More on that adventure in part two of this diary.....
Well FO sent a text late at night to say he had arrived in Munich finally. Unfortunately, his guitar hadn't. Whether it is in very small toasted pieces, blowing in the winds of Northern France or lurking wounded in the dark and sticky bowels of Paris Charles De Gaulle Airport baggage halls, we as yet don't know. Anyway, he will have to bring his spare guitar and various scrounged accessories today where we well meet him at Oslo International Arrivals. But now, to bed. The Old Bag awaits servicing.
We arrived on time into Oslo on a very full SAS flight and waited for baggage. And waited. I had to ask twice regarding bulky baggage pick-up point as none of our Storm (heavy-duty polypropylene) flight cases or guitars had come off the luggage belt. Not unusual in itself, this, as most airlines treat as oversized luggage anything that doesn't resemble a normal family suitcase. They are then variously described as "Bulky Bags," "Outsize Luggage" or "Special Baggage" depending on local airport parlance. For this reason, we use standard family suitcases with added inner foam protection, for transporting all the smaller loose pieces and even some of the vital tech gear like the audio-visual server and digital lighting desk.
John O'Hara, David Goodier and IA use Storm Cases for their fragile electronics, and jolly fine, sturdy cases they are. Also, IA uses a Storm double rifle case which just happens to fit his little boy's acoustic guitar. Of course, this is a flaming red rag to the customs and immigration bulls who line the exit corridor and wait to pounce on the suspicious entrant so he does get stopped rather a lot. What's in that bag, sir? Firearms? Ammunition? It is said that Anderson used to frequently carry various shotguns, rifles and pistols on his trips to Scotland in the 80s and 90s. His mandolin case, to this day, was originally a custom- made lightweight Cripple Creek flight case originally made for his Armalite AR180 Assault Rifle.
Of course, he no longer has these guns since they were prohibited by Parliamentary amendment to the Firearms Act (I had more than a little hand in that) following the Hungerford and Dunblane Massacres. Many lives were lost and the horrified British public - through the voice of politicians and the media - cried, "Enough," resulting in the banning of large calibre automatic rifles for civilian sporting use and, finally, all pistols. Did it curtail or even slow down the increase in armed crime? Not one bit. Firearms are as easy as ever for the criminal fraternity to obtain. But I digress. As always. But that's what we politicians are paid for.
Eventually, as I was queuing to report the lost or, perhaps, stolen bags and instruments, they finally arrived on the bulky baggage elevator - a full 30 minutes after all the other passengers had collected their luggage and gone. Phew! Trying to source alternative instruments and electronics on a Friday night in a strange country would be beyond my pay-grade....
So we made it through the customs bull-run and found the bus driver to begin the five hour journey down the coast of Norway to the little town of Arendal. "Could be seven hours' drive," the driver cheerfully informed us. Friday night traffic round Oslo and the prospect of weekend escapees heading off down the idyllic coastline were set to make it a very long day since we all had to get up around 06.00 this morning to travel to Heathrow Airport from our various homes. Toss-pot, the bus driver. Diddums had to stop three times to have a cigarette. Needed his skinny arse wiping and his sausages cutting up.
Of course, we would have to do the same thing in reverse early on Sunday morning for the return trip back to the UK.
The festival was a mid-town affair. Lots of bands over the three day period in various venues but a sort of poor man's Montreux with an emphasis on world music and more eclectic acts, none of whom I, sonically-cloistered as I have been, had ever heard of.
Our troupe of musical pranksters closed both evening and festival as the rain which had lasted continuously from 07.00 in the morning finally abated in the late afternoon giving way to clear skies in the evening for our show.
There was an unlikely Indian restaurant a mere 80 meters from the hotel but at ridiculous prices, chock-a-block full on the previous evening of our arrival and closed for lunch on the show day so Mr A ventured to the edges of town to the empty Chinese where vegetables were on offer. Unfortunately so were the liberal doses of salt making it taste really rather horrid. I know this having been invited for the feast.
Why do restaurants, generally, have to load everything with salt? Given the pre-salted part-processed nature of so much meat and fish along with various other preservatives, colouring agents and taste-enhancers present in ready-made sauces and condiments, we don't really need to endure this overload of quite dangerous salt intake. I am no nutritionist but I once served on a Parliamentary Committee trying to establish guidelines regarding food additives so we listened many defensive representations from the food manufacturers and the restaurant trade. All who claimed that the customers reacted better to heavy additions of salt and sugar. Well they probably would, even more so, if the purveyors of this muck added a few grammes of crack cocaine or morphine for good measure.
The countryside of Norway's southern coast is gentle, green and undemanding. Lakes and rivers abound with modest timber-clad houses in fine array. Generally clean and tidy apart from the inevitable "European sickness" - the proliferation of pointless graffiti in towns and countryside alike. To see two-meter-high spray-can adornment of such utterly infantile nature daubed on the sides of barns, bridges and public spaces seems such a harsh invasion by those zombie cretins who mindlessly force their presence upon us. Lock the buggers up, I say. And their parents, who in most cases must know what their brattish offspring are up to. Don't talk to me about freedom of expression or so-called street art. A bad fart in a elevator does not deserve excuse, however elegant the delivery....
The long drive back to Oslo was better than the outward journey. Tosspot the driver turned up at the hotel ten minutes late and then decided to repack his minibus, not caring for the way we had loaded it. We do this twice a day on average so we do know what we are doing when it comes to packing trucks, vans and trailers. But the asinine Tosspot thought he knew better.
What a bugger this touring lark is. You think it is going to be a holiday charabanc ride. A works outing to Rothesay. "Oh, the back of the bus they cannae sing..." Only to find that travel in the modern age is really no better than the late night stagecoach across forbidding, windswept Darkley Moor. At least the security queues were shorter in the days of Dick Turpin. The risk to life and limb, probably about the same.
Now comes the welcome Summer break for band and crew when all disperse to their various sojourns to be cosseted and kissed by the balmy breezes of August. Not bloody likely, as the weather forecast for the UK in the next week or so seems to promise more rain and cold temperatures after a couple of days of uplifting warmth last week. Some of the band lads are heading off on camping or walking holidays with family. Some crew have the odd gig to do serving different masters while IA and wife celebrate the bald old coot's 65th birthday on a Rhine cruise ship. A bit odd since we have been up and down the Rhine several times in the last weeks while on tour but Anderson seems to like Germany and life on the river. It was the Danube last year, apparently. The Yangtse next? Or a punt on the Cam?
But The Old Bag and I shall have a quiet few days in Cornwall at her sister's cottage and then off to......where? Perhaps Iceland, as I suggested in previous notes. Or maybe to the Western Isles of Scotland. Anywhere I can dump her in the residents' lounge bar with a bad book while I go off for a brisk walk and the opportunity to sample local life in the streets, hills, woods and valleys of rural-anywhere. Might try a spot of fishing. A good working class sport. The elusive piscine quarry does not observe class, dynasty or social standing. A hook is a hook. A worm, a worm. And whether served on china plate or in a newspaper with chips, the final journey the same. Same old digestive system, same old sewer pipe.
Over and Out. GB signing off. Firm slaps and marinated morsels of Fjordic Flapperfish, you rascals.
PS - I can just see The Old Bag in tartan trews, sipping a warm Glenfiddich by the fireplace in the Station Hotel at Auchtermuchty. If there is a Station Hotel at Auchtermuchty..... If not, I will have an old Westminster aide call the strangely coiffeured Donald Trump and get him to build one. Pitch and putt, anyone?
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Joined: Sept 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 2,156 Location: From down the smoke below...
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #24 on Oct 10, 2012, 2:40pm »
and another one! [IMO the best to date]
THE BOSTOCK DIARIES CHAPTER 10
Oh, how we longed for the Heathrow T5 experience. In spite of the now-legendary rocky opening a few years back, it hums now with the precision of a well-oiled baggage carousel and we get through every time (tempting fate here...) in the promised 8 minutes or less. But, of course, it is BA-only in that terminal. Passengers on Delta, Lufthansa, Virgin and the other riff-raff have a much less easy passage through to airside but still better than most international airports in the world. According to Mr A who has seen most of them.
Aboard the skylark for the 747 trip to Miami with promise of dodgy landing weather. But the BA pilot knew his stuff and steered us around the anvil-topped storm clouds for a textbook landing. But not until we had endured the Two-hour delay at LHR due to a faulty onboard air-conditioning system and lost our place in the take-off cue as a result. Pilot was volubly pissed off, as were his passengers, many of whom missed their onward connections in MIA.
An early night, then, for most of us after the long trip and an early load-in next morning at the first venue to break in and test the USA production before soundcheck.
Just as well to have the extra time as the cable between projector and the media server which provides the video sections would not work and the runner spent most of the afternoon finding another to make it back to the venue only as the audience were coming in.... Stress and tension all round. Last thing they needed at the start of the tour but the shows have gone well since.
You can sense both the excitement and the resigned ennui of the impending US election here in the State of Florida. The Sunshine State where sunshine is currently coming out of Mitt Romney's arse as he nows tries to placate NASA and the supporters of the US Space Programme by suggesting some unlike marriage of civilian, peaceful space exploration and a proposed "defense" priority fro future NASA strategy. That NASA should become effectively a wing of the military is surely to negate the whole point of space research, which has been for 30 years the most fruitful area of cooperation between Russia, the USA and other partners in peaceful space exploration.
Talking of NASA - we were treated to an afternoon of sheer wonder and delight courtesy of Col. Catherine Coleman, US Astronaut, recently returned from a 5 month mission to the International Space Station. She had with her onboard the ISS, Anderson's flute and they played a duet together during her 100 million kilometre trip in earth orbit. Indeed, said flute returned to earth on the Space Shuttle Endeavour, in the headlines a few days ago as it made its triumphal but rather sad journey inelegantly piggied on the back of a 747 en route to a museum in LA, its final resting place.
On arrival at Kennedy Space Centre, band and crew were ushered from the visitors' reception area to a waiting NASA bus which ferried us a fair old distance to the Orbiter Processing Facility where a mass of gantries and walkways almost obscured their well-protected and shrouded charge. Space Shuttle Atlantis, cocooned in the safe sanctuary of the massive structure around it stood proudly, if sadly, awaiting partial gutting of some systems and degradable bits and bobs before being slowly hauled - not to the burial pyre - but to the final KSC resting place alongside the other rockets and capsules of the US Space Programme, dating back to the Von Braun years.
We knew we were being taken to the VIP areas of the facility but were not really expecting to get close. Wow! In groups of four or five at a time, we were taken up the ladders, along gantries from tip of the vertical tail stabiliser to the landing gear below and all points in between. The veterans of the shuttle programme who were showing us around were retired volunteers who had spent most of their working lives on the shuttle missions and knew every inch and inner working of their fleet.
The holy sanctuary, the flight deck cockpit, was surprisingly large and sparse. Just two seats for Commander and Pilot. We all got the chance to sit in the commander's seat and handle the first avionic fly-by-wire system. Just a joystick and a few other simple controls, befitting the world's biggest and heaviest glider: yes, glider - for that's what the big moment-of-no-return was on landing where, after the re-entry burn, the pilot had to make the all or nothing hands-on decisions to get the crew back on the ground at the pre-ordained landing site. No powered descent - just the atmosphere-skimming nose-up wing-and-a-prayer attitude to transition to the eventual glide slope into safe harbour, flanked by two T-38 workhorse trainer jets.
Of course, like every VIP visitor to the "backstage" All-Access, high-security area, we individually thought privately of the dreadful moments when Challenger exploded soon after launch and later when Columbia burned up on re-entry after sustaining leading edge wing tile damage, both incidents resulting in the tragic loss of all crew.
Before and since, many brave men and women have walked the lonely walk to the transit vehicles taking them out to the launch pad, no doubt with such thoughts circulating ominously somewhere in the background, however tamed and controlled they have to be at such a moment. Mike Fossum, successor to Cady Coleman on the ISS was our other companion astronaut and gave us, along with Cady, the personal emotive touch that humanises such brave and intrepid endeavour.
Mike took a copy of the Tull Aqualung CD on one of his earlier shuttle missions and it is fun to think of the sounds of Cross-eyed Mary and My God thundering through the still, dry atmosphere of the Shuttle Discovery. Except that he probably wore headphones as respect for privacy must be uppermost in the close confines of a spaceship. Need a tiddle, anyone? Then look the other way.
Actually the lavvy-loo is a mini-cubicle with a suprisingly ordinary loo and seat. Hadn't the nerve to ask to use it although bursting for a wee. Apparently, there are attachments for connecting the male and female body parts to the waste tank. The early sub-orbital flight of Alan Shepard might not have required strategic thinking to any great degree but from the John Glenn orbital flight onwards, the Shower, Pee and Poo Research department of NASA must have scratched heads and everywhere else in coming up with Solutions To Ablutions for longer stays in space. I would love to have seen some of the designs that didn't make it... In NASA acronym parlance, that department was probably called SPPR. Or, S2A.....
We then went off to visit the Vehicle Assembly Building (yes - you guessed it - VAB) to stand in the vast space which, at 500 ft high and with a single span roof is still the biggest building of its type in the world, even after nearly 50 years. David Goodier summed up the sight and feeling as "It's not just a VAB - it's a cathedral," which was very apt. The spiritual sense of awe and optimistic hope were truly overwhelming.
At the far end, some 200 metres away, was a mock-up of the proposed new Orion spacecraft and some experimental work going on to test some new ideas for escape mechanisms in the event of immediate post-launch failure. Surprisingly, we were were allowed to watch and even see close-up the working test models of the possible systems. I was tempted to start talking in a Russian or Chinese accent but the joke might not have been appreciated...
Finally, off to Launch Pad A, standing silent, forlorn and empty a few miles away. After a drive-around, some special permission for us to get right up to the pad structure itself was mysteriously granted by "powers-that-be" and we were allowed to take photos but had to remain on the transit bus. Except, of course, Astronaut Catherine Coleman who jumped out and defied regulations by posing in front of the gantry structure for what we can only assume will be a NASA Lady Astronaut photo calendar. Cady remained, discretely and firmly incased in her blue flight suit, or Smurf suit as fellow Astro Mike Fossum dubbed it. All caught on CCTV, I'm sure.
So, many thanks to all at NASA who made this visit possible and who greeted us with such warmth and knowledgable enthusiasm.
As an era of space flight draws to a close, I wonder if the next US President - whoever it turns out to be - will renew support for the work of three generations of engineers, scientists and astronauts who have made all this possible. The funding, cut down as it now is, may not be the most prioritised in the minds of either government or the US tax-payer, but I hope that the future is brighter than the employees at NASA fear. So many have recently lost their jobs in the downsizing and this recession economy. The greatest minds in space exploration surely must be given the resources to continue to pioneer to the other planets, the asteroids and, one day, to the stars. No more fitting legacy could there possibly be for the crews of Columbia and Challenger than to support this work for the long term future.
Joined: Jul 2011 Gender: Male Posts: 2,952 Location: North Carolina, U.S.A.
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #25 on Oct 10, 2012, 3:28pm »
Thanks for keeping Gerald's Blog up to date Pat. Here is a very timely bit of Gerald's lovely sense of humor.
Quote:
You can sense both the excitement and the resigned ennui of the impending US election here in the State of Florida. The Sunshine State where sunshine is currently coming out of Mitt Romney's arse as he nows tries to placate NASA and the supporters of the US Space Programme by suggesting some unlike marriage of civilian, peaceful space exploration and a proposed "defense" priority for future NASA strategy. That NASA should become effectively a wing of the military is surely to negate the whole point of space research, which has been for 30 years the most fruitful area of cooperation between Russia, the USA and other partners in peaceful space exploration.
That's right, we can beat those Commies to the Moon all over again. Maybe?
The USSR’s successful launch of Sputnik 1 in 1957 caught the USA by surprise; and the reactions of panic have been well documented. Suddenly, the night sky was transformed from a serene celestial dome to a place of menace, from which unseen attacks could be launched on the capitalist world. At the same time, there was tremendous excitement that the shackles of gravity had been broken at last and human dreams of space were about to be realised.
While the US military and government were grappling with the political implications of Sputnik 1, one of the ways in which ordinary people responded was to translate the body of the spacecraft into something familiar and edible. The humble olive, with the addition of three or four toothpicks to represent antenna, became a symbol of the satellite. This was an excellent garnish for a martini, sandwich or the quintessential American food, the hamburger.
The USSR’s successful launch of Sputnik 1 in 1957 caught the USA by surprise; and the reactions of panic have been well documented. Suddenly, the night sky was transformed from a serene celestial dome to a place of menace, from which unseen attacks could be launched on the capitalist world. At the same time, there was tremendous excitement that the shackles of gravity had been broken at last and human dreams of space were about to be realised.
While the US military and government were grappling with the political implications of Sputnik 1, one of the ways in which ordinary people responded was to translate the body of the spacecraft into something familiar and edible. The humble olive, with the addition of three or four toothpicks to represent antenna, became a symbol of the satellite. This was an excellent garnish for a martini, sandwich or the quintessential American food, the hamburger.
Joined: Aug 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 4,628 Location: By Scotch Corner
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #29 on Oct 21, 2012, 6:50pm »
Here's the latest and probably most interesting installment by Gerald.
The Bostock Diaries
Touring NASA Below Apogee - Part 10
Latest news from the lyric writer of the original "Thick as a Brick" who, if he had to study science, it would have been astronomy
Oh, how we longed for the Heathrow T5 experience. In spite of the now-legendary rocky opening a few years back, it hums now with the precision of a well-oiled baggage carousel and we get through every time (tempting fate here...) in the promised 8 minutes or less. But, of course, it is BA-only in that terminal. Passengers on Delta, Lufthansa, Virgin and the other riff-raff have a much less easy passage through to airside but still better than most international airports in the world. According to Mr A who has seen most of them.
Aboard the skylark for the 747 trip to Miami with promise of dodgy landing weather. But the BA pilot knew his stuff and steered us around the anvil-topped storm clouds for a textbook landing. But not until we had endured the Two-hour delay at LHR due to a faulty onboard air-conditioning system and lost our place in the take-off cue as a result. Pilot was volubly pissed off, as were his passengers, many of whom missed their onward connections in MIA.
An early night, then, for most of us after the long trip and an early load-in next morning at the first venue to break in and test the USA production before soundcheck.
Just as well to have the extra time as the cable between projector and the media server which provides the video sections would not work and the runner spent most of the afternoon finding another to make it back to the venue only as the audience were coming in.... Stress and tension all round. Last thing they needed at the start of the tour but the shows have gone well since.
You can sense both the excitement and the resigned ennui of the impending US election here in the State of Florida. The Sunshine State where sunshine is currently coming out of Mitt Romney's arse as he nows tries to placate NASA and the supporters of the US Space Programme by suggesting some unlike marriage of civilian, peaceful space exploration and a proposed "defense" priority fro future NASA strategy. That NASA should become effectively a wing of the military is surely to negate the whole point of space research, which has been for 30 years the most fruitful area of cooperation between Russia, the USA and other partners in peaceful space exploration.
Talking of NASA - we were treated to an afternoon of sheer wonder and delight courtesy of Col. Catherine Coleman, US Astronaut, recently returned from a 5 month mission to the International Space Station. She had with her onboard the ISS, Anderson's flute and they played a duet together during her 100 million kilometre trip in earth orbit. Indeed, said flute returned to earth on the Space Shuttle Endeavour, in the headlines a few days ago as it made its triumphal but rather sad journey inelegantly piggied on the back of a 747 en route to a museum in LA, its final resting place.
On arrival at Kennedy Space Centre, band and crew were ushered from the visitors' reception area to a waiting NASA bus which ferried us a fair old distance to the Orbiter Processing Facility where a mass of gantries and walkways almost obscured their well-protected and shrouded charge. Space Shuttle Atlantis, cocooned in the safe sanctuary of the massive structure around it stood proudly, if sadly, awaiting partial gutting of some systems and degradable bits and bobs before being slowly hauled - not to the burial pyre - but to the final KSC resting place alongside the other rockets and capsules of the US Space Programme, dating back to the Von Braun years.
We knew we were being taken to the VIP areas of the facility but were not really expecting to get close. Wow! In groups of four or five at a time, we were taken up the ladders, along gantries from tip of the vertical tail stabiliser to the landing gear below and all points in between. The veterans of the shuttle programme who were showing us around were retired volunteers who had spent most of their working lives on the shuttle missions and knew every inch and inner working of their fleet.
The holy sanctuary, the flight deck cockpit, was surprisingly large and sparse. Just two seats for Commander and Pilot. We all got the chance to sit in the commander's seat and handle the first avionic fly-by-wire system. Just a joystick and a few other simple controls, befitting the world's biggest and heaviest glider: yes, glider - for that's what the big moment-of-no-return was on landing where, after the re-entry burn, the pilot had to make the all or nothing hands-on decisions to get the crew back on the ground at the pre-ordained landing site. No powered descent - just the atmosphere-skimming nose-up wing-and-a-prayer attitude to transition to the eventual glide slope into safe harbour, flanked by two T-38 workhorse trainer jets.
Of course, like every VIP visitor to the "backstage" All-Access, high-security area, we individually thought privately of the dreadful moments when Challenger exploded soon after launch and later when Columbia burned up on re-entry after sustaining leading edge wing tile damage, both incidents resulting in the tragic loss of all crew.
Before and since, many brave men and women have walked the lonely walk to the transit vehicles taking them out to the launch pad, no doubt with such thoughts circulating ominously somewhere in the background, however tamed and controlled they have to be at such a moment. Mike Fossum, successor to Cady Coleman on the ISS was our other companion astronaut and gave us, along with Cady, the personal emotive touch that humanises such brave and intrepid endeavour.
Mike took a copy of the Tull Aqualung CD on one of his earlier shuttle missions and it is fun to think of the sounds of Cross-eyed Mary and My God thundering through the still, dry atmosphere of the Shuttle Discovery. Except that he probably wore headphones as respect for privacy must be uppermost in the close confines of a spaceship. Need a tiddle, anyone? Then look the other way.
Actually the lavvy-loo is a mini-cubicle with a suprisingly ordinary loo and seat. Hadn't the nerve to ask to use it although bursting for a wee. Apparently, there are attachments for connecting the male and female body parts to the waste tank. The early sub-orbital flight of Alan Shepard might not have required strategic thinking to any great degree but from the John Glenn orbital flight onwards, the Shower, Pee and Poo Research department of NASA must have scratched heads and everywhere else in coming up with Solutions To Ablutions for longer stays in space. I would love to have seen some of the designs that didn't make it... In NASA acronym parlance, that department was probably called SPPR. Or, S2A.....
We then went off to visit the Vehicle Assembly Building (yes - you guessed it - VAB) to stand in the vast space which, at 500 ft high and with a single span roof is still the biggest building of its type in the world, even after nearly 50 years. David Goodier summed up the sight and feeling as "It's not just a VAB - it's a cathedral," which was very apt. The spiritual sense of awe and optimistic hope were truly overwhelming.
At the far end, some 200 metres away, was a mock-up of the proposed new Orion spacecraft and some experimental work going on to test some new ideas for escape mechanisms in the event of immediate post-launch failure. Surprisingly, we were were allowed to watch and even see close-up the working test models of the possible systems. I was tempted to start talking in a Russian or Chinese accent but the joke might not have been appreciated...
Finally, off to Launch Pad A, standing silent, forlorn and empty a few miles away. After a drive-around, some special permission for us to get right up to the pad structure itself was mysteriously granted by "powers-that-be" and we were allowed to take photos but had to remain on the transit bus. Except, of course, Astronaut Catherine Coleman who jumped out and defied regulations by posing in front of the gantry structure for what we can only assume will be a NASA Lady Astronaut photo calendar. Cady remained, discretely and firmly incased in her blue flight suit, or Smurf suit as fellow Astro Mike Fossum dubbed it. All caught on CCTV, I'm sure.
So, many thanks to all at NASA who made this visit possible and who greeted us with such warmth and knowledgable enthusiasm.
As an era of space flight draws to a close, I wonder if the next US President - whoever it turns out to be - will renew support for the work of three generations of engineers, scientists and astronauts who have made all this possible. The funding, cut down as it now is, may not be the most prioritised in the minds of either government or the US tax-payer, but I hope that the future is brighter than the employees at NASA fear. So many have recently lost their jobs in the downsizing and this recession economy. The greatest minds in space exploration surely must be given the resources to continue to pioneer to the other planets, the asteroids and, one day, to the stars. No more fitting legacy could there possibly be for the crews of Columbia and Challenger than to support this work for the long term future.
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Joined: Sept 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 2,156 Location: From down the smoke below...
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #30 on Dec 2, 2012, 4:30pm »
Southern Calfornia to Old Europe - Part 11
Latest news from the lyric writer of the original "Thick as a Brick."
Bugger me but what a whirlwind tour! Been a bit quiet on the diary front as of late due to extreme work pressure on tour in the USA Pt 2 and then the prep and advance work on the Euro Winter tour. We did have a week at home but my feet (being on the end of rather short and stocky legs) hardly touched the ground at the office desk.
We started up in the US in San Diego which I had never visited before. Really a rather nice town with the heart of a city-scape informed by Art Deco and the Spanish influences of an architectural decorative sort. A suitable entree to the wide and sunny world of California and all it suggests to the novice Big Cal Traveller. Touches of NYC in the throbbing heartbeat of downtown. But, we were only there for a day before setting off up the coast beyond Sana Barbara to the valleys of Santa Ynez - a pleasant but long drive to stay in a hotel in the nearby Solvang - a quaint little tourist town rather irritatingly modelled on a far-off Danish idyll replete with half timbered (ply and insulation fre-fab) houses and pseudo-European country gift stores. What bollocks! What utter tripe! Disney-Dane daftness.
The gig was in the Chumash Casino. Looked everywhere for a Chumash warrior or even a lost Apache but in vain. Whilst the booze and decadence abounds front-of-house in casinos, backstage is often a desert when it comes to a decent tot of firewater. Didn't exactly put Mr A in a good mood when the runner I had organised to pick him up from the hotel went AWOL resulting in a delayed soundcheck.
I really think I have learned to do a decent job in my weeks of tour management initiation. But sometimes, when things go wrong, as they evidently do, one takes the blame, rather, for the neglect and intransigence of other, lesser, mortals.
Wending our way down through Palm Springs area and back to Long Beach CA gave a glimpse of Southern Californian automobile culture and the endless 6-lane freeways where trucks and cars compete to see who can change lanes most often without signalling. Everyone seems to drive constantly at 10 mph over the speed limit so there are no slow and fast lanes as such. The sensitive and retiring voiture pilote must throw all caution to the wind and join the lemming rush to the next exit where last-minute signage - often blocked by a high-sided truck - produce terrifying disarray in the darting movement of vehicles either avoiding or inadvertantly taking the exit lane which looms without warning and so-easily consigns the unwary to the dark underbelly of urban wasteland.
Mrs A arrives in the rental car hot and flustered after such day-time journeys and has to be consoled with Tea and Marlboro. We charabanc people, cosseted and cocooned in the slumber-womb of Earl Jones's sleeper-bus have little idea of all of this mayhem but wake in the morning refreshed to take in a new postcard environment and try to figure where the nearest Starbucks is. And who hid Florian's socks and moved his guitar-case 2 centimetres off-line in its carefully placed - some might venture to say OCD - repose.
Long winding drive to Salt Lake City while The Master and Mates flew budget airline through the sunny blue skies for a midst-Mormon night off. Then the weather started to turn cold and a bit nasty. And remained so for much of the subsequent dates. Texas warmed us up again for a while, especially as we reunited with the NASA shuttle and ISS crews and a few wives and workers who came to the Houston show. Astronaut Coleman took the band to The Johnson Space Centre and they visited the original and the current Mission Control buildings as well as the underwater zero-G simulator. Mr A was en route by car from Dallas so couldn't be there in time.
The after-show meet and greet was mainly for the Astros and we met up with Italian Astronaut Paulo Nespoli who the band all knew from last year (before my time) as well as Coleman and Fossum. Mrs C joined the band on-stage for the encore and, while waiting in the wings for the go-button to be pressed, quipped that it was pretty much on a par with sitting atop a Soyuz in Baikonur as far as heart-thumping moments go.
Beats me that, in mid recession, NASA is spending countless millions training new astronauts at this time while the old guys are already trained, fit, experienced and ready to roll once more in service of the country, mankind and within the restraints of budget. Hell - I might volunteer myself. I'm about the right age for it....
The bad weather returned with a vengeance as the concerns regarding the imminent Hurricane Sandy began to surface. Mrs A slept with the Weather Channel on, so I learned, as it might threaten the travel arrangements of the flyers in the latter stages of the tour. Luckily, it didn't, but tragically for many Americans in the New Jersey and NYC areas, it most certainly did. You know the rest. Our travel Agent, Debra Michaels, lost home and contents in the floods out on Long Island where evacuation was necessary and she now faces many months to to completely rebuild and re-equip. We all wish her and her partner Benjamin the best in picking up the pieces of their lives and getting back on track in the New Year.
So, with the last dying vestige of the super-storm playing out in the burbs of the Midwest we all flew back from ORD to a miserable UK climate, fully prepared, at least, for whatever Winter throws at us here.
And on to Old Europe. After wrestling with the last few details of the tour itinerary, I helped pack up equipment and load the bus, driven by the irrepressible Yorky - a sort of Tennessee cowboy from Oop North or, perhaps, Earl Jones with a flat 'at and a pint of IPA. I rather suspect he doesn't eat his fruit and veg either at catering.
Overnight to Brussels for the first show last night and Mr A with the lingering chest infection as a result of the cold picked up two days efroe the end of the US tour. But he got through it and the antibiotics are starting to kick in so all should be well for the remainder of the dates this year. No one, including me, would have noticed except for a couple of places where the aerobic necessities of fluting and singing non-stop resulted in a shortened note or more frequent gasp for air.
I received the sad news after the show, in a nearby bar, that my services were likely to be dispensed with at the end of this calendar year as there is a long stint with no work in the early part of 2013. If "long stint" can describe 6 weeks off! But the tour dates in Japan, South America and a couple of other planned trips utilise local tour managers and there is little for me to do. Except, perhaps learn Japanese.
To tell the truth (as I always try - if bluntly - to do) I am rather relieved that it seems to be drawing to a close. I had a whiff of the likely termination during the gap between the US tours but thought it merely gossip and blether. But now, it seems that your trusty gofer, fixer and loyal laundry-facilitator is about to join the ranks of the greasy and unwashed unemployed. Norman Tebbitt sent a note yesterday to my home offering his thoughts, prayers and the loan of a bicycle which I might use to go in search of work until I find it......
Whilst stacking the shelves at the local Waitrose might be a short-term option, I rather fancy being the old lag who rounds up abandoned trolleys in the car park and repatriates them to the pit lane for rejoining the final lap in the Christmas Grand Prix Food-shopping debacle. Which really is the case since the Old Bag tells me that the local Waitrose management, in its infinite wisdom, has completely reorganised the counters and displays so the experience is back to front and all the regular shoppers are in a frantic muddle to find their weekly supplies. And bad-tempered, to boot, as there is nothing like the enraged Waitrose Senior Citizen customer on a rant and rampage through the hallowed aisles of the Most Holy Church Of Waitrose, a John Lewis Company. Some, it is rumoured, bring their own trolleys with Roman Chariot-like blades on the wheels to snap at the heels of the dodderers and the indecisive. And sharp pointy studs on the front of the basket for parting the Red Sea in the fruit and veg aisle. One - Mrs Harbottle, QC retired, of Little Grunting - has a bicycle bell which she mounts on the front (and an electric cattle prod too, no doubt). Not seen her myself as she goes on Wednesdays, I'm told. Friday shopper me. Old Bag has a thing about poking at the beef and inspecting the dead, vacant eyes of the fish while looking for the best of everything before the weekend. Freeze the lot, I say and eat when you want.
I'll try to manage another of these before the end of the tour and you perhaps don't hear from me again. Although - and it is just an although - I might get back to writing again in the New Year to try my hand at songwriting. Picked up a few tricks on these tours and strummed a few dodgy chords on Ryan's dressing room guitar when he wasn't looking. I've got this great riff on the go currently..... I can just imagine it cranking up the opening cadences of a new concept album of Progressive Rock. Or Progressive Metal, perhaps, since I have a secret and unfulfilled hankering for the tightness of trouser and the toss of mane.
Over and Out. GB signing off.
PS: Da-da-da-da daaah da.... Or has that been done before?
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Joined: Sept 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 2,156 Location: From down the smoke below...
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #32 on Dec 11, 2012, 5:02am »
New one up!
OOOOOhhhhhh! Coming thick and fast, aren't they....
THE BOSTOCK DIARIES CHAPTER 12
Norwegian Wood, wouldn't he?
Into the wilds of Denmark to a quaint little town called Struer for an evening off. Cold, raining, windy but, thankfully, with the charming little theatre we were to play just across the road from the hotel. As was the rather noisy bar where we ate dreary bar-food and drank slightly less dreary bar ale. But a night off is a night off. Is a night off. Chris Archer went on a bean-shopping expedition (he eats only baked beans from a can, drinks gallons of milk and laces it with Kahlua when he can find it). Mike Downs stayed in his room doing whatever it is he does in his room and won't tell of. Not to a soul. Dark and dirty doings in the Downs mini-suite. Tom and Manny went to enjoy aperitifs, serious drinks and after-dinner drinks while the rest of us ate, chatted and indulged our weary bods in a ridiculously early bedtime.
Anderson splashed out on a spot of early Christmas present buying the next morning and we crew lackies went to the venue to do the setup and prepare for soundcheck. The gem-like little Struer show was what is termed "a filler" being too small to make money but big enough to offset expenses of a day on the road before Copenhagen.
A late load-in to Copenhagen made for a stressful afternoon and soundcheck - due to the promoter saving his money by not deigning to engage local crew for the morning's work. Which meant that sound and lights were still loading in at 13.00 when I arrived off the train from Struer with Mr A.
But things were to get worse. The Norwegian promoter had constantly failed to provide advance information regarding travel and showtimes for weeks before the shows which meant I could only complete the itinerary the day before the tour started and the only-then-announced late load-in times for the Norwegian shows could be challenged.
Seemed that the local orchestras had priority use of the venues for morning rehearsals and relegated our crew to even later load-ins at 14.00 or even 15.00 in the case of Bergen. Tosspots! Wankers! And worse. State-subsidised orchestras bumping us free-market wallahs is despicable. We, and those like us, pay our way, rent the venue facilities to bring money into those venues to offset the hideous, taxpayer-subsidised haughty culture of the Orchestral industry. Which otherwise loses a small fortune.
Now, don't get me wrong. By all means support your local orchestra but do they really have to preciously insist on rehearsing in the venue itself? What's wrong with the school hall or the rehearsal venues which other orchestras in the UK or USA use? So, yet again, more frantic and desperate attempts to bring in the soundcheck at a time before doors opened for the punters. Stress, unreasonable work hours, and little time for a coffee or a bit to eat.
Promoter should have stated all this when he took the shows. And the long, long hours of bus travel, which I queried ages before in my concern as to Winter travel in Norway were almost to prove our undoing. "No problem, good roads," the promoter had said. Well the reality was snow and more snow and 13 hours from Skien to Bergen. With the resultant late soundcheck and stressful day. But the mood lightened as we arrived in Oslo for the last show. A hotel bed at last and fond farewell to Yorkie the bus driver as he started the journey back to the West Country to drop backline at the warehouse and have the bus disinfected and quarantined.
Then, for us BA flyers, off to sunny Italy via a short London stop-over while Mr A went home for a even shorter night in his own bed.
Did I just say, "sunny?" Nooooooo dear readers - Italy brought rain, cold and weather on a par with Norway.. So, onset of wicked and bleak Winter looks set to define the final week of the TAAB tours for me and a cold one to boot. Just as well that I packed my warm overcoat - the one TOB (The Old Bag) gave me for the trip to Lewis in the Outer Hebrides a few years back when she drank too much peaty malt and fell off the back of the sofa in the empty hotel bar. Tartan stockings and those awful navy blue school knickers on display to the watching world. Which, happily, it wasn't, having stayed in to watch the Inverness v Celtic match on the Telly-V.
Read an interesting summary this morning of old pal Stewart Wood's recent BBC radio broadcast with boss and dear leader Ed Miliband in which he recounted his anecdotal TAAB moment where the then freshly-anointed Mr Ed was dismayed to see what he thought was the morning newspaper review of his first speech as party supremo, screaming from the screensaver of advisor and Tull-fan Baron Wood's Blackberry: "Thick As A Brick! " It required a full explanation from the amused advisor as Mr Ed is not of the Tull generation, it seems.
Labour Peers must enjoy their little joke.
I, myself, was up for peer status a couple of years back but quickly let it be known such titles, jollies and perks were not for me. Retirement was looming and losing a previously safe seat not a testimony to enjoy from the Lofty pedestal of The Lords. Ed is a decent fellow, to be sure, but that chief advisor, Baron Wood of Anfield, may yet steer him down the wrong path to drink, drugs and indiscretion at the Cinnamon Club, the Indian restaurant frequented by politicos and journos in the dark, satanic streets of Little Westminster-on-Thames.
On a different and entirely more relevant topic, I have recently sojourned online to visit a certain German musical instrument website to purchase a clone Gibson Les Paul type electric guitar in order to better understand the complexities (and simplicities) of the metal-axe-man madness which is about to enter my life.
A group of us ex-politicos are to get together, I can now announce, to set up a cross-party platform for Hard Rock in the shape of (first suggestion as to band name only) The Commoners - who will self-pen a few ditties as well plunder the back catalogue of a some old-school worthies. Not Jethro Tull material (a bit too - well - complicated) but more like Iron Maiden, AC/DC and Meatloaf if we can find a good enough singer. As Cyril Smith is no longer with us and, anyway, not exactly in favour with those he is said to abused, we may have to find a skinny guy with a fat-suit. Nigel Lawson?
And no - T. Blair need nor apply. Even if his wife Sherry-Cherry would let him. He is a Fender man through and through and we will have nothing of that jangly, twangy, nonsense here: what I have purchased are (eat your hearts out mealy-mouthed Fender-noodlers) a 1967-style Goodson Lee Spall, (made lovingly by a small hand in Korea) finished in distressed sunburst, and fitted with twin Grunt Afterburner Mk II humbuckers set for the heart of the nun.... Marshall stack with vintage Black Dwarf 12" titanium-coned speakers. A Tube-Sim Obliterator Pre-amp with digital multi-FX and a MySnake 20' graphite core, ruggedised guitar lead with the platinum-plated jacks. A donkey-leather strap edged in badger fur and guitar picks made from recycled endangered sea-turtle shell.
Just have to learn to play the damned thing and I'm in business.
Well - not really business. Just for fun. TOB is, surprisingly, in favour of all of this. Gets me out of the house, or more like, keeps me out of the house. Tull crew egging me on. IA sceptical but promises a space on the website to announce our first gig. Baron Wood in strong support. Even thinking of changing his Blackberry screensaver to a .jpg of The Commoners in drag with a naked Brad Pitt lookalike tied in bondage-fashion at our vinyl-booted feet. Wonder what the saintly Mr Ed will make of that?
Over and Out. GB signing off.
PS: Anyone got a well-thumbed copy of Bert Weedon's "Play In A Day"? C major looks straightforward enough but Bb7th seems to invite a seriously dislocated pinky.
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Joined: Sept 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 2,156 Location: From down the smoke below...
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #33 on Jan 27, 2013, 5:15am »
new one
Hello, how are you, Merry Chrissie and a Happy New Year, dear readers. Wanna pull my cracker?
THE BOSTOCK DIARIES CHAPTER 13
A New Beginning
Well - Christmas and New Year came and went. Just about quickly enough.
While the Anderson tribe went about their saintly business of redecorating the cathedrals and churches of the realm, The Old Bag and I took a little trip to a Cotswold countryside Spa Hotel, "The Snootery", to enjoy a long weekend of self-indulgence in the wet and soggy surroundings of the park. We had newly-built off-lying cottage accommodation booked but, due to lack of other guests and the inclement weather, were upgraded to the bridal suite in the main building. Just as well as the December Atlantic depressions were so atrocious we hardly left the hotel. TOB had some Spa beauty treatments in the vain hope, I imagine, that I might wish to take fuller advantage of the marital bed. Skin peels and hot, waxy oil dripping out of every pore, however, are not likely to get this old engine started.
Home again to the Rectory where, being on low ground, we were subjected to three feet of water in the cellar and a small lake where the driveway used to be. Wettest December since records began, they said at the Met Office. Smugly and with n apology whatsoever. Half of the countryside was under water around St Cleve and the roads impassable for days on end. Tried in vain twice to get to the Clutterburuy Waitrose to do the Christmas food-shopping but ended up with a frantic last-minute dash for the last turkey in town two days before the big day. A bottle of 12 year old Talisker single malt and some own-brand cooking brandy for TOB rounded off the £200 or so it cost to stock up for the the next week, given that we had to at least appear sociable with the neighbours.
Archie Parritt invited us over for his customary drinks and supper-do at Cruddock Hall and even had the pool heated and available for the last guests to take a wild late-night dip, so we heard. Not being exactly mad about Bunga-Bunga-style revelry, TOB insisted we leave early and try three-in-a-bed with old Silvio back at our place instead. Just kidding. Actually, he could have helped me out that night as it happened....
Heads down and wait for it all to go away. That's my idea of Christmas and the New Year. TV was rubbish. How many times do we have to watch "Love Actually" to find out if Keira Knightly ever gets it off with the best man (who bears a striking similarity to Sheriff Rick Grimes in "The Walking Dead").
And so to January with real snow and real Winter promise! I spent a happy afternoon in the Old Library bookshop with Matt Bunter and his collection of marvellous tomes of all sorts. Historical romances. Politically incorrect Victorian extravaganzas and..... a very interesting, if flawed, unpublished manuscript by Ernest T. Parritt, local amateur historian and grandfather of the present Lord Archie and, who, it turns out, had a curious penchant for historical observation and a bit of fortune-telling to boot.
Apparently he wrote this in 1928 in the drawing room at Cruddock Hall during a hideous early Winter. Unable to venture out to shoot pheasant or seduce the local lassies at the Turnpike Inn, he whiled away six long weeks penning a yarn of ancient history of the British Isles laced with juicy predictions of things to come.
Matt and I were both enthralled and amused by his well-intended scholarly meanderings and so I took it home to draw some inspiration for ideas for lyrics for the band I am putting together in my age of febrile middle age crisis. In a mere few weeks, The Commoners will have a debut gig to a few old buddies from the back benches in a tavern in darkest Westminster and I hope I can achieve a level of competence by then in the art of axe-bashing, or whatever you call it.
Young Florian Opahle has promised to come over from Munchen to offer a bit of guitar tuition and performance guidance if I bestow upon Easyjet the princely sum of £45 each way plus a ride from Gatwick.
TOB will have her work cut out to feed him as he is an enthusiastic eater. A sausage man and pie enthusiast, he will find little to sustain him at Waitrose now that haggis season has closed after Burns night. Happily, the Dirty Duck has a Bavarian Night scheduled in early March so perhaps he will find sweet solace in the palest of white sausage, suckling pig-knuckle or blood-soaked varieties of Kronfleischküche in his communication with the recently departed. Enough to conjure a stiffy from a necromancer. Fist of pork with mustard and lashings of lardy excess will one day send young Opahle heavenward on a fluffy cloud of self-loathing. "Serves the bugger flippin' right," as half-veggie Anderson might say.
Lord Anfield (Woodsy) called the other day and asked me if we might take gentlemen's lunch at a favourite Bangladeshi haunt in Brick Lane. Methinks he has darker motives. Could it be he sees a place for an old dog in shadow cabinet meetings? Shadow Minister with seriously-mislaid portfolio?
Mr Ed may, or may not, know about this blatant attempt to seduce the old dog from its cozy kennel but I rather fancy the Sag Prawn with the Tarka Dal and a couple of fat Naan breads. In for a penny, in for the full quid. Bugger me stiff with a red-hot poker, but I think I might take up his hospitality. I would offer to pay, of course, but exalted High-Labour toffs have to show off a bit. Pick up the tab and slap backs. Show they are not above wining and dining the lowly and the lost.
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #35 on Feb 1, 2013, 12:30pm »
Yes, I read them and even pass them along. I find it to be good and original writing and think it adds even greater depth to the Anderson/Tull project. I've received positive (albeit not universally) feedback from those to whom I've forwarded the material. I'm finding it resonates with at least a certain narrow demographic!
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Joined: Sept 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 2,156 Location: From down the smoke below...
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #36 on Feb 11, 2013, 7:03am »
Little update from Gerald.
"Had a nice email from IA and band saying how much they missed me! From Spain, in fact, where they were about their sordid business playing a few concerts with the TAAB show. No one got sick. Bad days of travel but all went well in spite of concerns regarding production and lack of information from the local promoter.
I have been fiddling with my rock lyrical masterpiece. Fine-tuning and editing. I hope to show the outline to the music-meister when he returns today. Maybe I can persuade him, over a glass of local ale at the Dirty Duck, to consider it for a music project - just as we did those 41 long years ago when I was a nipper. Precocious little bastard I was, in fact, but I grew out of it. Or did I? Well, I like to think so. I am really rather shy, if truth be known, and dreaded those PM's questions when I had to get up and pretend to represent my constituents over some trifling matter. A nuclear base. A road closure. A farmyard disease of bovine proportions.
Ah, well - now the creative juices are flowing in a different direction (certainly not towards the nethers of of The Old Bag, who is somewhat detached at present having taken up Zen studies and is shortly off to a Buddhist retreat) I shall concentrate on my concept album and offer up a few tasty guitar licks, courtesy of Florian Opahle's tuition. Florian has a new girlfriend, I heard, and may not have time for his old pal, but I shall ask him anyway. He just turned thirty this month and may have other things on his mind. Still, when you hit 51, as I shall later this year, there is plenty of time for reflection and concern. Must go off for that prostate check. The wriggly finger and the blood-sucker await....
But first, to call Mr A and try to have that get-together and show him the first draft. Fingers crossed he likes it. Otherwise, I shall be forced to take it to Iron Maiden."
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Joined: Sept 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 2,156 Location: From down the smoke below...
Re: Gerald's Blog « Reply #38 on Feb 12, 2013, 11:22am »
A bit of blatent product placement from 'Gerald' Off to see Django unchained this afternoon with nearby resident Andrew Lincoln of Walking Dead fame. Apparently the new episode did 16 m viewers last night, beating all cable/sat records. So he can pay for the popcorn and the diet pepsi....
The Walking Dead hits 12.3m and sets a US cable ratings record AMC series The Walking Dead, which airs on Fox here in the UK, has pulled in hugely impressive ratings.
Andrew Lincoln in The Walking Dead. Image. Image.net Zombie drama The Walking Dead, which airs on AMC in the US and Fox in the UK, has become an unstoppable monster in the ratings.
In the US, the premiere episode kicking off the second half of the third season returned with its largest ever audience in the history of the series; 12.3 million viewers for the 9pm premiere alone.
Repeated same-night broadcasts of the debut episode took the figure to 16.6 million viewers for the night.
The Walking Dead, starring British actor Andrew Lincoln and featuring fellow Brit David Morrissey, has grown into one of the biggest US shows around based on the all-important Adult 18-49 demographic rating.
It has attracted more viewers in this age range than the likes of The Voice, Modern Family, X Factor USA, Two and a Half Men and Grey's Anatomy.
It has even out-rated The Big Bang Theory in the key adult demo rating. US audience measurement company Nielsen says a cable series has never reached that big an audience in that particular advertiser-friendly age group.
Make no bones about it (heh), The Walking Dead is a phenomenon.
After a nail-bitingly anxious wait, it will return to Fox for its UK premiere on Friday 15 February at 10pm.
So far this season, we've met new foes, said goodbye to old friends and witnessed a whole load of zombie kills, not to mention an epic cliff-hanger that left fans desperate for more.
After a heart-stopping mid-season finale so gob-smackingly epic, the second half of the third season is sure to be a killer (geddit?). But will it also produce eye-popping ratings in the UK? Watch this space.
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