Trash Cinema

Even trashy films can save themselves from being total schlock by sticking to their guns and playing out the way they're supposed to. I'd even go as far as arguing (perhaps unconvincingly) that narrative missteps in a trashy film are more serious than in more mainstream fare. A stupid plot development in a trashy film can instantly convert it into total trash, whereas a comparable blunder in a more conventional film merely consigns it to the misguided bin where it can be quickly forgotten. Basically, a narrative cock-up in trash film (which, by definition, contains no redeeming features) confirms that, yes, you really did waste your time with it.

And so it is with 2012, a film that, for a good while, luxuriated in the trashy apocalypse it created and looked for all the world like it was going play out the way it had been aiming from the start: a sentimental paean to family values. Instead, John Cusack's deadbeat dad, who was surely heading for a noble death in The Poseidon Adventure mould, is spared, only for his love rival, who's more than proved himself worthy of Cusack's screen-family's love, to bite it in the closing minutes. This is not how things should have ended (nor should they have been dragged out in a ridiculously lengthy screaming-children-in-watery-peril section). Up until this point, the film had me. It was trash but, damn-it, it was good trash. But the film-makers managed to stomp all over my goodwill in a volte-face that made no narrative sense. Fools.

In passing, there was a moment, not long before the film threw everything away, where it could even have aspired to greatness by wiping out the entire human race through making the humanitarian pleadings of one of the lead characters backfire spectacularly. It would have been completely plausible, a marvellously nihilistic headstone to Man's place in the uncaring cosmos, as well as beautifully illustrative of the maxim that "no good deed goes unpunished". But, again, the film-makers totally stuffed it up. Losers.

c.v. / Wordle / mash-up

Having gotten bored at work preparing a proposal, I was messing around over lunch and decided to fire my c.v. (part of said proposal) through Wordle just to see what happens ...



The proper version can also be found over here.

A night (in the A&E) to remember

Well, last night was rather more eventful than expected. What started out as a few drinks with an old friend (the huntin', shootin' and fishin' DP), wound up with me spending the small hours in the A&E unit at Southampton General.

What's still a surprise to me now is that things were going swimmingly up until to about 5 minutes before they went off the rails. We'd had a nice opener of a few drinks and a chat at the Platform, then followed up with a visit to a new-ish Indian restaurant in the city centre that came highly recommended by one of our party. As it turns out, the recommendation was spot-on, and the venue and food were great.

However, just as we were close to wrapping up (and I was reflecting that, again, we'd managed to over-order; if only slightly this time), what started as mild discomfort at having eaten a lot turned into uncomfortable warmth, then steadily elevating nausea and then the fading of my vision. The former two symptoms, while unpleasant, aren't exactly new to me, but having my vision appear to degrade into fuzzy static was a novel experience. At least, not one that I usually encounter while sitting down to eat. Anyway, perturbed by the nausea, I decided to make for the restaurant's bathrooms, only to not make it there.

Next I knew, I was on the floor in the corridor that led to the bathrooms. I also felt extremely, well, attenuated, not really entirely all there. To the extent that I couldn't initially make any connection between the preceding circumstances and "waking up" on the floor. Fortunately, my fellow diners spotted my crash-landing and before long got me sat upright on some sofa that the restaurant staff had kindly directed us to. Given the outward appearance, they'd have been well within their rights to assume I was just another liquored-up punter, but they were great. As were the rest of my party, DP and JTA, both of whom did a great job sorting me out.

Anyway, after a few moments deciding what to do, during which I was still feeling rather distant, an ambulance was called (along with C). Then, in what can't have been comfortable viewing for other patrons, I was trolleyed out to the street and into the waiting ambulance. As I was still rather faded at this point, but was otherwise showing nothing too serious, the paramedics decided that they'd take me up the General for a full service.

While the journey was a bit of a blur, by the time I arrived (some indeterminate period later) I was beginning to feel like a first-order approximation to normal. After a bit of NHS bureaucracy, I was wheeled into a bay and then hooked up to another set of machines (which, painfully enough, required the removal of one set of sticky electrodes only for them to be replaced by a near-identical second set). One friendly nurse and a preliminary check-up later, and it was time for a visit from The Doctor.

Lots of questions followed about my medical history, my family's medical history and the day's history. The upshot of which was that I was diagnosed (drum-roll) as being dehydrated - a combination of a light lunch, lots of diuretic drinks (tea, a couple of beers, a coke) and a late dinner apparently. The dehydration dropped my blood pressure, and when I ate my small intestine treacherously hijacked what little was left, to the great discomfiture of my brain. Given that it was one of the strangest experiences I've had, it was a bit disappointing that it was something as mundane as dehydration. That, and I expect no shortage of jokes about putting more water in my gin in the future. Anyway, as a result of all this I got my first taste of being on a drip for the better part of an hour. Meh.

Regarding my treatment at the hands of the NHS, again no complaints from me. The staff were uniformly great, both in care and communication, and gave me an impressive working over. If I can gripe at all, there did seem to be an issue about how the relay of healthcare professionals passed the "baton". I was there for about 3 and half hours, but because of the quite large gaps between staff visits, could probably have been out at least an hour earlier, which would have freed up the slot I was occupying if nothing else. However, having thankfully not been to the A&E very often, I can't say if this was just down to the range of other patients who were in last night. Actually, on that note, I've really not the slightest of slight grounds to complain - my problems paled into insignificance compared to those of my fellow guests of the A&E.

Anyway, today I've been "resting" at home, sorting out my busted glasses (my nose looks a sight) and drinking lots of water. Overall, it's been an interesting experience, but not one I intend to ever repeat again.

Political observations

Two hot topics this week appear to be the changes (= cuts) to university fees and benefits.

Regarding the former, we seem to be steadily edging towards a system not dissimilar to that in the US, at least in terms of fee magnitudes. Now, I don't know the system there well enough to pronounce confidently, but this doesn't seem like the right path to promote social mobility. Back in the day (= 1980s), the absence of fees, the availability of grants, and the rationing of a more limited number of university places based on aptitude, all seemed to promote (or, at least, not discourage) such mobility. The bright future of large student debts seems likely to result in a lack of this. Certainly, I think I, and my parents, might have thought twice about me becoming the first member of my family to go to university if the proposed changes were in place in 1989.

As an aside, in all of the discussion of fees, nothing is ever said about retreating somewhat in terms of the percentage of school-leavers who go onto university. I tend to think education is always a positive, and am reluctant to consider measures to restrict it, but the more limited availability of places in the past may have kept the system of invisible fees and mildly helpful grants financially viable. Or did it? Anyway, regardless of whether I'm right or wrong on this point, it seems decidedly odd that this sort of option is off the table.

Regarding the latter hot-potato-du-jour, welfare, coverage of the government's proposed simplification of the benefits system seems to have completely overlooked any historical context. The current "byzantine" system did not appear ex nihilo at its current level of complexity. It was created simple, but evolved into the "monster" it is now because of a whole series of individually sensible responses to situations where recipients fell between the cracks. The fanfare around the Tories plan to simplify the system seems to overlook the fact that, before long, gaps in provision are liable to become obvious and the creeping rise in complexity will begin anew. In the meantime, of course, people least able to accommodate this shiny new system are liable to come unstuck dealing with its one-size-fits-all orthodoxy.

Pruning the tips of the welfare tree, or even branches where necessary, seems a far more sensible approach than hacking it right back to the trunk then allowing it to gradually regrow as uncomfortable truths come back to roost. But, fed on a junk food diet full of exaggerated tales of benefit scroungers, the public seems happy, or at least resigned, to let the Tories get on with it regardless of the short- or long-term costs, financial or social.

The life, and death, of a nerd

Though it's not at the head of my backlog of books to "write-up" here (3 overdue and counting), The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is easily the book I've enjoyed the most in quite a while. So, before I forget all about it, allow me to introduce the 2008 winner of the Pulitzer Prize by the Dominican émigré and MIT professor, Junot Díaz. A novel that, bizarrely for a work of literature, I even came across this trailer for.

Taking the form of a ramshackle multi-generational family saga, the novel is built up (surprisingly enough) around the short life of Oscar Wao, a ghetto nerd growing up in present day New Jersey. Shunned because of his steadily increasingly weight and his devotion to science fiction, fantasy and comics, Oscar is further pained by his predilection for repeatedly falling in love with girls who never share his feelings. A situation that doesn't change even when Oscar goes to college, ostensibly more fruitful dating grounds. There, faced with more crushing disappointments, Oscar attempts to take his own life, but bungles his suicide bid and returns home to his family. Then a trip to his mother's homeland, the Dominican Republic (DR), opens his eyes to beauty in the world, and introduces him to an older woman who, for once, finds him engaging. But just at this point of finally finding a glimmer of happiness, Oscar's idealistic romantic streak sets him on a collision course with more malevolent forces.

Narrated largely by Yunior, Oscar's college roommate, the book also prominently features his mother Beli and his beautiful sister Lola. Beli is an unwilling émigré from the Dominican Republic (DR) who fled after attracting the near-lethal attention of the murderous regime of Rafael Trujillo. As well as describing Beli's turbulent life, Yunior also fills in the bloody history of her family's earlier descent from the respectable middle classes of the DR, first to its slums, and then to their equivalents in the US. It is a story punctuated by violent events and possible encounters with the divine that Yunior ties together in a rambling, quasi-mystical exploration of fukú, the curse, and its diametric opposite, zafa.

What a joy to read. Though it's a rambling shambles of a novel with only the loosest of loose structures to it, Oscar Wao is told with such vitality and humour that it's difficult not to be won over by it. This is largely down to the voice of the majority narrator, Yunior, who lays out Oscar's tale in a brash, conversational spanglish that brilliantly stage-manages the (broadly) tragic events. His streetwise voice animates both Oscar's and Beli's dismal lives without over-egging the pathos, and does so in a way that even paints Oscar's late self-knowledge as something of a victory despite his untimely end. But, mostly, he's really just funny, particularly so when contrasting his own vibrant love-life with Oscar's desert-like equivalent. Even when the story takes a darker turn, Yunior's vivacious telling of it prevents things from becoming too maudlin.^[1]

A particular joy for a nerd like me was the novel's frequent use of stories from science fiction, fantasy and comics to parallel Oscar et al.'s lives. Various events in the narrative, good and bad, are referenced to apposite ones from iconic classics like Middle Earth, Dune and Planet of the Apes. For instance, at one point in Beli's story we're told, role-playing game-style, that a beating she receives inflicts 167 hit points of damage to her (Trujillo, we are later told, receives a fatal 400 points of damage when assassinated). Her survival, and recovery, in the face of this beating is compared to Superman's, "who drained from an entire jungle the photonic energy he needed to survive Coldbringer", in The Dark Knight Returns. And the novel closes with a direct reference to Dr. Manhattan's closing words in Watchmen, "Nothing ever ends". As well as it being nice to have touchstones from one's own (dubious) cultural-upbringing referenced, it's done with real panache here, giving the narrator (for a nerd, anyway) an extra level of verisimilitude, as well as being very funny at times.

C and I had a discussion the other night about the occurrence of the Golden Mongoose as a plot device that intervenes twice to save both Beli and Oscar from death in a Dominican canefield. She, correctly, identified the introduction as of a bit of magical realism intruding into the tale. I kind-of saw it as allegorical, and made some ridiculous argument about it being a significant character from local folklore that was almost bound to appear to people in a seriously injured, and thus altered, state. I guess that I'm just too much of a staunch realist, especially with books that I like, and am quick to subconsciously invent a dubious rationalist explanation to subvert mystical experience whenever it appears. The novel's introduction of the curse, fukú, and its counterspell, zafa, which the narrator uses as a theme to describe the events in the story, is a little similar, but much more easily put down as a allegory.

Anyhow, notwithstanding my gushing praise above, the novel got something of a drubbing at C's book group, largely for the same reasons that made it a winner in my eyes. But even so, for me it's still easily the best novel I've read in quite a while. It's not going to make my top ten,^[2] but it's a joyful read, in spite of its doomed hero.

---

[1] He's also something of a footnote fan, and uses these throughout his portions of the book to fill in tangential information, the history of the DR and general digressions on subjects that occur to him. When I first came across these early in the book I was sure that they'd totally annoy me, but they're used relatively sparingly, and they're often quite humourously tangential asides from Yunior.

[2] Which is already out of date after the tour-de-force that is The Poisonwood Bible.

I ❤ MATLAB

And what's not to love ...


This was just a bit of mucking about after I'd finished helping Bob work out how to do a polar plot of his ARIANE output.

I've never publicly declared my love for MATLAB here before, so coming clean about our 16-year affair is long overdue.

Humane cinema

Two great, and humane, films to report from this weekend.

The first, Departures, was the Japanese winner of the Best Foreign Film Oscar in 2009. It tells the story of a cello player who, after losing his job in a Toyko orchestra, returns with his wife to his home town where he unwittingly takes a job as an undertaker. His particular three-person company specialises in highly ritualised ceremonies in which the family of the deceased are present while the, well, "undertaking" is respectfully and gracefully performed. Even so, this job brands him almost as an untouchable, even to his wife, but the narrative quietly dignifies his role, and shows how it eases the emotional suffering and pain of those left behind. It's not an entirely perfect film, and has something of a contrived loop that draws in the cellist's own family, but it's an enjoyable and satisfyingly humane piece.

The second, The Kids Are All Right, is in many ways quite a conventional family drama, but stands out both in being centred around lesbian parents and, more significantly, by not making a big deal of this. Narratively the film works really well, and has more than a few great laughs in it, but I, woolly liberal that I am, really took to its normalisation of the central relationship. Although there's no reason that this shouldn't feel right, social history suggests otherwise, so one part of the film's success for me is just making a non-traditional family credible and loving. That almost seems like a "so what?" point in this day and age, but I can't think of any other films that do the same (though that might just be me being cosseted). Anyhow, highly recommended. (Oh, and it got extra brownie points from me by finishing in my old LA workplace, Oxy.)

Fifteen in Fifteen

Prompted by Dave, the biggest music-lover I know, I cobbled together my fifteen most memorable albums in fifteen minutes for a facebook challenge he sent around. Rather than let it disappear under the ever-rising tide of facebook posts, I thought I'd reproduce it here. In part so that I can check up from time to time on whether I'd still concur with it. Anyway, it's organised here chronologically to avoid an agonising bubble sort that would take me far outside the required fifteen minute time-frame.

• Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles, 1967
  
• Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd, 1973
  
• Welcome to the Pleasuredome, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, 1984
  
• Graceland, Paul Simon, 1986
  
• Life's Rich Pageant, R.E.M., 1986
  
• The Raw and the Cooked, Fine Young Cannibals, 1989
  
• The Stone Roses, The Stone Roses, 1989
  
• Into the Great Wide Open, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, 1991
  
• 99.9F°, Suzanne Vega, 1992
  
• Welcome to Wherever You Are, INXS, 1992
  
• Parklife, Blur, 1994
  
• Different Class, Pulp, 1995
  
• Disgraceful, Dubstar, 1995
  
• The Boy with the Arab Strap, Belle and Sebastian, 1998
  
• Bachelor No. 2, Aimee Mann, 2000

Major omissions are Talking Heads and David Bowie, both of whom, hand on heart, I couldn't really pick out a favourite (non-compilation) album for. They both may have written some of my favourite songs, but consistency over the length of an album isn't one of their strengths.

---

Creationist closure

Back in August I uncharacteristically got off my fat arse and sent my MP a letter regarding the creation of so-called "free schools" by the ConDem coalition. While I can certainly imagine advantages in letting schools direct their own curricula, I can equally see how such freedom could be misused to allow creationism access to the classroom.

Anyhow, I was pleasantly surprised at the time when my MP (well, actually his private secretary) got back to me almost immediately, thanking me for making my concerns clear and promising to take these up with the appropriate government minister. The reply I received went on to say that I'd be kept abreast of any subsequent response.

Flashforward to today, and said promised reply has arrived. Both the relevant minister and my MP have affirmed that "creationism has no place in the teaching of science", and that "[c]reationism has no scientific backing and therefore cannot form part of the science National Curriculum". The letter I received was accompanied by a photocopy of the minister's response to my original letter, so I've got the full reply as well as the distilled version from my MP. I was also amused to find my name redacted from the minister's response - presumably in case the letter passed into enemy hands, or something.

Anyhow, as I also remarked last time, I'm impressed with the response I've had to my original "seething-from-Southampton" e-mail. Both with the actual handling of it (I half-expected my e-mail to disappear into a black hole), and in the apparent seriousness in which both my MP and the minister seemed to have taken it. It certainly gives one a little more confidence in the machinations of government. At least in terms of its ability to reply in platitudes to constituents.

Of course, I say the above because I got the response I hoped for. I wonder what sort of response I'd have got, and what sort of treatment, if I'd played the crazy card and requested that creationism is taught in our schools? Not a controlled experiment I intend to try out, but it'd be interesting how a reply to that sort of request would be finessed.

Staycation, days 10-11

Largely pottering days. More garden / house tidying in preparation for the arrival of my parents on the afternoon of day 11. Essentially, nothing interesting doing, but seeing as I'm now obsessionally documenting our staycation, a placeholder entry is required at least.

Oh, we did get our chimney cleaned ...


Photograph courtesy of C.

Staycation, day 9

Up to London today to meet Annie, and to check out the Tate Modern's current exhibitions. The main one being a career-wide retrospective of the 19th century French artist Paul Gauguin.


This turned out pretty well, although I'm still not especially gushing about his work. As is not uncommonly the case, a more interesting part of the exhibition was its contextualising of his work within history, particularly that of European colonialism. On this score, Gauguin has a bit of a reputation for exploitation, evidenced by his paintings of, and affairs with, local women on his various travels through the colonies. But the exhibition also brought out his conflicts with the colonial authorities (including the church), and gave the impression of nascent anti-colonial feelings in Gauguin. Although that might be just down to me skim-reading and misinterpreting the various presented documents.

We also spun around a surrealism exhibition, always fun, and a long-standing one on cubism, futurism and one other -ism that I can't now recall. As with much modern art, something of a mixed bag. Some excellent, some impenetrable, some pants (= unappealing to my aesthetic). And we took in the current Turbine Hall exhibit, Sunflower seeds, of 100 million life-like, well, sunflower seeds.



Of which, C made her own work with a handful of seeds. A different handful from the one she stole, needless to say.



We had a nice long chat with Annie along the way, including a dissection of her recent book group meeting that trashed a book C and I liked (which I'm long overdue writing up).

And then it was a long journey home, standing room only, on the train. Not the best way to top off a day spent standing around staring at art.

Staycation, day 8

Out today to Portsmouth to visit Barbara and Alan in the PM. To make something more out of the short hop eastwards, we stopped off along the way in Portchester. Though it's hardly a fair way to judge a city and its surrounds, because of Portsmouth's relatively high population density, I've always tended to write-off anything within spitting distance of it. Including the across-the-water Portchester. How wrong could I have been?


Very, as it turns out. Though the town itself is not a whole lot to write home about (or even write blog about), it's got a great seafront, which includes the excellent Portchester Castle. The map above shows the short (5.3 km) walk that we did around and through it.


This shot shows the most intact part of the castle, its keep (in the NW corner of the map), but the remainder is in pretty fair shape too, at least relative to more tumbledown affairs like St. Andrews. Including some great walls. The castle grounds also include a church, St. Marys, and both external and internal moats (the latter around the keep).


As the above panorama hopefully shows, the castle also affords great sea views over to Portsmouth itself. Seen from this distance the city actually looks appealing! ;-)

Anyway, a pleasingly surprising trip out east. And another great day for it - the weather could not have been better (cf. the deep blue sky above). And followed up with a nice catch-up in Portsmouth itself. In particular, Alan was in great form.

More photos over at Flickr.

Staycation, day 7

Out to Romsey today for the annual pre-Christmas fair at Broadlands country house. We didn't do terribly well getting presents for anyone else, but did much better getting ourselves new hats and gloves for the winter.

The afternoon was spent faffing around at home doing various odd jobs in the house and the garden. In freeing up the camera, however, it did allow an opportunity to create a time-lapse of Pushkin in action (well, what passes for action with her) ...

Staycation, day 6

More shopping chores around Southampton this morning. It's frankly embarrassing that it took a holiday for me to drag myself to Staples to replace our printer's toner cartridges, but there it is.

Out in the afternoon with John and Meriel. Just a walk along Weston Shore to the playground there followed by cake. And, yes, I did have a go on the swings. I don't know whether it's the warm memory of a childhood activity, or just the physical pleasure of building up a head of steam against gravity, but it's always fun.

Staycation, day 5

With our cat in for a check-up at the vets in the afternoon, we didn't have as long for a walk today. Hoping to catch some autumn colour, we headed out to Boldrewood in the New Forest, which an article in a newspaper claimed was suitable ...


While it was certainly a nice day out in the forest (albeit a very short walk; 5.7 km), it wasn't particularly autumnal. Though the portion of the forest we visited had more than a few evergreens, there were enough deciduous to have made a show in principle, but they weren't playing ball. The closest we got was with the bracken on the forest floor ...


We also rediscovered just how difficult it is to find decent vegetarian options in rural pubs. After trying about four different places on the route back to Southampton, we gave up and had a sulky lunch back at home.

In passing, Pushkin checked out largely OK on her visit to the vet. Thyroid still shot to pieces, but acceptably aberrant for 18.5 years of age.

A few more photographs over at Flickr.

Staycation, day 4

One of the disadvantages of a staycation is being based at home and, thus, acutely aware of household chores that need doing. Consequently, today we felt obliged to have a kitchen sort-out, and to give the garden its last blast before the onset of winter. Au revoir Thursday.

Staycation, day 3

Out today to the north of Hampshire to visit, first, a craft centre up in Andover, and then on for a hike in nearby Harewood Forest.


Our first stop was an old fairground just to the west of Andover that's been converted into a series of arts and crafts shops (actually, they looked more like former stables). A few interesting bits and bobs to see, but not a whole heap to buy. One or two of the shops were actually pretty specialist, and very much at the pricey end of the crafts places we've visited. Just down the road, we came across the colourful bovine pictured above, the mascot for a local farm shop, but one we first mistook for a Cow Parade escapee.


Our hike was a fairly easygoing circular trek through 13.1 km of Harewood Forest just to the east of Andover. The weather was just about perfect, with nearly constant sunshine keeping the temperature (and, latterly, our spirits) up. We did get distracted by a futile wild goose chase to find some ancient monument deep in the woods, but otherwise the hike went more or less according to plan (= as per our walk book).

The trail itself was a mix of farmland and forest, so was a little more varied than many of the walks we do in Hampshire. It actually took in a portion of the Test Way, so it was also more straightforward to navigate. And, oddly, we had it completely to ourselves - we never met, or even saw, anyone else on it. Not an especially photogenic walk, but there were some nice vistas across rolling fields, and (I presume) the high chalk content of the soil made for a nice range of browns across the ploughed fields ...


As usual, photos over at Flickr.

Staycation, day 2

Out today to visit the Cass Sculpture Foundation in Goodwood, just to the north of Chichester.

While it's an outdoor sculpture park much like another we visited earlier this year, it very much caters to the larger (and more expensive) sculpture demographic. Even the smallest were still quite large, but I see this as a definite advantage for outdoor "galleries", where the scale of the environment can diminish conventionally-sized works. Little chance of that here (see, especially, "Alfa" below), and the works are further helped by sympathetic positioning within some lovely grounds.


This one, "Woman", was definitely one of my favourites (and not just because of the sculpture abuse possibilities). From a distance it first appeared to be a visitor to the park, but as we got closer its scale became more obviously alien. It should have been a little representational for my tastes, but the quality of the representation, as well as its intrinsically otherworldly size, made it stand out to me.


"Alfa" is the biggest and best example of giantism in the sculpture at the Cass park. A bright orange loop of steel tubing, it towers above all of the neighbouring sculptures and even the trees that fill the park. So it's immediately impressive, if rather difficult to photograph.


Another attractive one, almost like a child's mobile, is "Sun and Moon", a big-scale (though not up to that of "Alfa") work representing, obviously enough, the sun (background) and the moon (foreground). Doubling up as our lunch site, this got more scrutiny that many of the others.


After finishing up at the park, we headed down to nearby Chichester for a trawl around the shops and a visit to the city's impressive cathedral. The latter visit also drew in a great coffee and cake stop - a theologically perplexing use of the Lord's House. Was this a watering of the attendant faithful, or an angling for the attention of the faithless using lemon cake as bait? Either way, the cathedral was an excellent stop.

As ever, there's a full set of photographs over at Flickr.

Staycation, day 1

We're having a staycation this autumn, largely so that we can keep an eye on the recently-ailing Pushkin (though the prospect of losing our jobs through the imminent cuts hasn't gone unnoticed). Anyway, because I've been away over the weekend, Day 1 strongly emphasised the "stay" part of our staycation so that we can do chores.

That said, we did manage out to see The Social Network in a late-afternoon screening that amassed an impressive 5 cinema-goers (including us). And it turned out to be a surprisingly good film. Perhaps not surprising given the writer and director, but the latter was most recently responsible for a true stinker. Anyhow, I understand that its relationship to reality may be a tad hazy in places, but it's a pretty good stab at turning a dot-com success story into a credible and engaging story. Though I won't be rushing to up my visit-rate to Facebook.

The Big Four-Zero

Up to Oxfordshire this past weekend, to a small town called Burford (not to be confused with Burwash), for Dr. M's 40th birthday party. On my own this time though as, unfortunately, C had to stay home for this one to nurse an ailing cat (though Pushkin appears to be making a recovery).

We were staying in a place called Wysdom Hall, an extremely quaint 16th century guest house which doubled up as our canteen for the weekend. It was a truly strange concoction of a building in which every bedroom was different in proportion and layout from the last, that had a plethora of interconnected lounges, and which felt like it had been grown rather than built. So an excellently sprawling venue for a typically sprawling event, and attended by frequently sprawled guests. Though it was a little too late in the year to be making full use of it, the hall also sat in some great "cottage garden" grounds that afforded, needless to say, many Kodak-moments.



The order of ceremony was: arrive → late dinner → drinks → crash → unruly breakfast → moderately long but easy walk → extended dinner preparation → extended dinner → drinks and games → crash → kitchen cleanup → unruly breakfast → gradual sloping off of attendees. As ever, alcohol was freely flowing, language was the traditional mix of in-jokes and profanity, dinner was served at length in extremely generous portions, and it was all topped off with a hard-fought tournament of the Name Game^[*].



The walk was an enjoyable 10.1 km jaunt through the countryside around Burford. While it did occasionally take in terrain that wasn't entirely appropriate for the in-buggy 11 month old who accompanied us, on the whole the going was pretty straightforward. And it was long enough for each of us to gradually chat our way through the whole walking party which, given that I've not seen many of the crew for quite some time, was very enjoyable. There have been a few changes in jobs and locations since last time, but generally things remain fairly similar. In a couple of cases, there was a lot to report (e.g. Chris' various travels), but it's still a little surprising, and comforting, at how things also stay the same.



As ever, I came away feeling rather privileged at being included in the event. My connection to the group is more peripheral than the bond between the core, but I'm always made welcome, and I always enjoy the chance to shoot the breeze with such a diverse group of friends. This time particularly, since Dr. M's brother and sister were able to join us, and they're always excellent value.

Anyway, as usual, more photos over at Flickr.

---

[*] The Name Game: Assemble two equal-sized teams; distribute paper and pens; tear paper into small, equal-sized pieces; write the name of a famous (either generally, or specific to the group playing) personage on each piece of paper; fold the papers and place them in a holding vessel; round 1: allow 30-60 seconds for a member of each team to draw paper from the vessel and attempt to describe the person with naming them; round 2: as round 1, but players can only use a single word to describe the person; round 3: as round 1, but players can only use the medium of mime; round 4+: typically unsuccessful (and drunken) rounds that involve successively restrictive modes of communication, e.g. hands-only, staring. "Famous" names typically include: figures currently in the news (e.g. Ed/David Miliband); semi-celebrities with comedy names (e.g. Christopher Lillicrap); sportsmen or women known only to the person who wrote them down (e.g. David Gower); friends not present at the party (e.g. Martin West); celebrities with dubious (but describable in a single word) sexual history (e.g. Gillian Taylforth); and occasional wild-cards (e.g. this weekend's was Goat Peter, immortalised in an adaptation of Heidi most of us remembered from our school years). Repeat playings of the game with the same group of people invariably leads to the selection of "favourites" who recur every time, and by the inclusion of former players as subjects whose faults (or otherwise) can be discussed at length in round 1 (e.g. Alistair Cockwank). These features can make it difficult to introduce new players to the game, and should be guarded against.