Nothing else going on in Hull aside from grown men jumping up and down regarding the future of Hull City manager Phil Brown and chairman Paul Duffen. The latter has at least fallen on his sword and buggered off, the former is quite obviously having nervous breakdowns in public repeatedly. Following twitter feeds has never been such fun while those sports journalists - who rank alongside music journos for beer-swigging ineptness - are demonstrating their creativity and ability to speculate wildly amid a real absence of facts. The Tigers will survive, no matter what warnings their auditors may feel obliged to issue.
Also at Hull's Ferens Art Gallery right now is an exhibition of mind-bending proportions - Shirley Craven's iconic 1960s fabric designs for Hull Traders (based not in Hull but over the Pennines). There around over 30 fabrics by Craven hanging on the wall, all of which make you want to start humming A Whiter Shade of Pale and/or purchase a wah wah pedal. I didn't know this before but, apparently, Craven revolutionised post-war fabrics with her weird and wonderful designs. Also tempting the gallery visitor is a lot of 1960s tomatom furniture and its accompanying literature, some of which contains George Best - as if it could be anyone else - draped over very curvy chairs.
. The night was rounded off by Matt Panesh, who also goes by the moniker Monkey Poet, who gave us his Welcome To The Uk show. He was pleasantly filthy, although to compare him, "amongst others, to Lenny Bruce and Bill Hicks," is surely lazy reviewers at their worst. Anyway, towards the end he did a good little ditty about the art of Tracey Emin, Damien Hirst and the cow dung-happy work of Chris Ofili. Which, when Sam and myself headed to Hull's municipal arts gallery after seeing Up at the cinema today, made seeing Chris Ofili's Popcorn Shells all the more interesting. "It's about celebrity and musical heroes," I told Sam, as he tried to find the image of Michael Jackson tucked behind one of the big lumps of shit. "I still don't get the cow dung," he complained.I was asked to speak at Hull Truck's Careers Day today. Which is either a sign of how far I've come since this blog began when I was attempting to work out myself how to make a career out of writing. Or everyone else was busy. There were other speakers too, who, and I'm sure the participants were pleased by this, have forged very good careers for themselves - actors, directors, technical folk, a very, very interesting man from Equity. After we spoke, by which time we'd all whittered on so much that the whole shebang was running late, I was involved in the delivery of a writing workshop which, amongst other exciting moments, involved me emptying a bag onto the floor in a dramatic fashion. I think they all enjoyed it!
Walked to mother's. Doing a lot of walking at the moment as the car's off the road. It's not so bad and my carbon footprint is miniscule as a result. Pushed Finn along for the ride. The 30-minute walk seemed extremely worthwhile when we arrived at ma's placed - she got some bacon under the grill and I was quickly sat munching away on bacon butties. Finn, who's a vegetarian like his mummy, enjoyed his cheese and cucumber too. Had a chat then we walked back home. Nice.
...I tend to just sit about and forget to do the things that I planned, throughout the week, to do on the weekend. I have, however, cooked us all omelettes and washed some pots. This is not the stuff that makes for a good blog entry but, as I look out of the window at the rain and ponder whether I would have purchased one of the available tickets for Hull City v Portsmouth had there been any disposable cash in the pot and get almost excited at the prospect of a pitcher of lager at the local after X Factor and before Match of the Day tonight, I do feel that might be as exciting as things get today. Pretty tired, after a day of watching other people work in the media yesterday.
Spent most of today at BBC Radio 5Live events in Hull - Simon Mayo's show which, naturally, included Kermode and Mayo's Film Review then, after a brief interlude for coffee at BBC Radio Humberside's HQ and a meander to the fantastic Ye Olde White Harte for a couple of beers, Colin Murray's 5LiveSports show followed by Murray and Lovejoy's Sports Express. All most enjoyable and a really nice photo opp for Tim Lovejoy, who was desperate to smile and get his arm round an obscure playwright. The only downside of the day was an Annie Hall-style experience in the queue at Vue Cinema for the Mayo gig. A straggle-haired, overweight and slightly smelly film geek who, I deduced, is a reviewer for independent local radio, was proferring his reviews of every instance of moving pictures since the zoopraxiscope was patented in 1867 to everyone else in the queue. He spoke ridiculously loudly that it's a wonder you didn't hear him. He was, to use a choice word, a twat. But I suppose it was to be expected given the event. It was, as I suggest, very much like this:
A day that was all about Nick Griffin's appearance on Question Time. It's all been documented elsewhere. I'd like to think that the British people are intelligent enough to make up their own minds about Griffin and his disgusting, ignorant, narrow-minded party.
Finally got round to watching the Question Time that was recorded in Hull last week, on the BBC's iPlayer (I can no longer remember how I lived without this fine technological advancement). It wasn't too lively a show (the calm before this week's Nick Griffin appearance I imagine) and the only aspect that really got me spitting was every time the dreadully slimy Nigel Farage of UKIP opened his mouth. What puzzled me was that, given that the venue was a 15 minute walk from our house, I didn't recognise a single person in the audience. You'd think one or two familiar faces would have squeezed in there. Possibly the legendary Les from the Lamp bringing up the thorny issue of asylum seekers. But no. Not one person, other than A Johnson on the panel, that I knew. Instead, the producers had managed to fill the Community Church with articulate people who, on the whole, were even sans the oft-mocked Hull accent. Had these people been shipped in from the East Riding's nicer villages? Or was the whole thing an actor-laden Apollo moon landingesque sham filmed in North Acton? I jest, of course. I was actually impressed with the way Hull's folk presented themselves - they done us proud - and the lack of Elizabeth Duke gold trinkets on display.
We, the three of us, walked back into the living room. There had been several hours of 'playtime' and toys were strewn everywhere. "It's like Beirut in here," I laughed. M pointed out that it would have been unlikely, during the devastating Lebanese war, to have seen the streets littered with a push-along dog, a Thomas the Tank train and several Bob The Builder toys. I will never use a cliche again.
Wrote some comedy sketches. Myself and M had promised to write some for someone we know for performance by some young people. I was cold, tired, had the remnants of Swine Flu gnawing away at me, was bereft of ideas, couldn't think of any funny lines. Naturally, they turned out great.
I was in a pub the other day and, laid on a table, with nothing and nobody else in sight, was a newspaper. I realised, too late, when I'd taken it back to my table, that it was a copy of the Daily Mail. It was the edition, I'd find out much later in the day, containing Jan Moir's nasty assault on the memory of Stephen Gately. I picked up the paper and went and sat down with it. Ten minutes passed by and I'd read the back pages when a man tapped me on the shoulder. "Did you take that paper? The one from that table over there?" We looked. The table was still empty, with no obvious sign that anyone was or had been sitting there. I explained that I thought the paper in question had been abandoned. "It's my paper. Why did you take it?" I explained again and made some quip about the horror of the Daily Mail and the poor state of its page layout. "I'll have it back now." I'd already given it back to him before he'd said this. He was a rather odious man. A typical Daily Mail reader (I felt tainted having been near the paper for those ten minutes) - that paper was in his every movement and utterance. He shuffled off but didn't sit down and read but went over to another couple sitting across the way to tell them what had happened. "He," said the man, in fully earshot of me, "just took the paper. Can you believe it?" If I'd realised it was a copy of the Daily Mail I wouldn't actually have bothered touching it. And if only he'd known (although he reads the DM every day, so probably did know) what he'd relished fighting to have back in his possession - Jan Moir's nasty ramblings. Yuk.
Went to the last night of Hull Fair (much of which heads to the north east coast now). Finn was brave the other night when we took him and actually went on a ride but this time around would only shake his head in the negative whenever we suggested that he repeat his impressive feat. We bought some horrible chips that made Bob Carver's greasy efforts seem like Michelin Star winners in comparison. We looked at the flashing lights and went "ooh" and "aah" because that's what you do when you take an almost two-year-old along for the non-ride. Me and Hull Fair go way back - mother used to run an off-license on the corner of the street that hosts the fair so I used to go every night. I miss the goldfish, the boxing booth and really wanting to get on the latest, most expensive rides. The vomit, well, I'm happy to live without that.
Hull's Adelphi Club is 25 years old. There's a great installation at the Ferens Art Gallery that sums up the importance of the club and those 25 years. Lots of interesting video looped round and around which is well worth a watch and the bus, covered in Adelphi flyers. Tax = £Free. Only on 'til Monday though.
In the 1950s, the western world's fascination with technology and science fuelled design like never before. Right there, in that present, people were provided with houses and cars that screamed 'the future'. Cars that were equipped with fins fit for take-off; curvy furniture that occasionally resembled marshmallows; kitchen appliances that looked capable of getting you to the moon and back. The future, when it came, was nothing of the sort. As we all clamour to work out what the digital future is/should be and get one step ahead of the zeitgeist (the avant avant garde?) are we, I pondered over a slice of pizza and a cheese savoury doorstep, simply creating another retro-future?
Today, I spent much of the day at Hull Digital Live 09 - 'Hull's very own Digital and Technology Conference'. It was fun and the speakers were, on the whole, very good. We started with bacon sarnies (why, they know the way to a geek's heart!) and vast vats of coffee, and we were regularly fed and watered throughout.
I made some notes. A potted and highly inaccurate version of the day's speakers, if you like. BBC Tech reporter Rory Cellan-Jones was first up. 'How Digital is Britain?' went the question on his first Power Point slide. He provided an historical overview of all things wired which, I assume, was aimed at those who have been asleep since 1995 when Rory first arrived online via a mysterious device called a modem, a thing that, he told the room that laughed in response, made funny noises. There were difficult-to-glean-anything-from maps of hotspots and notspots, a chat about connection speeds and Rory's favourite word, it became apparent, is 'scraped', which he uses instead of 'downloaded' but, in doing so, makes the internet feel a bit grubby and dirty. I should point out that Rory, along with Charles Arthur, was one of my faves on the day - he had a nice line in self-deprecating wit and further endeared himself when he spoke about the "sheer hunger for connectivity" in Rwanda and the One Laptop Per Child scheme that has paid dividends in Kigali, Nigeria. He also dismissed the current vogue that, somehow, suggests that broadband access is a 'right' that we should all be provided with a la gas, electricity and water.
Number 2 (a cheap laugh there, for those who like their toilet humour) was Jaan Orvet of noded.biz, telling us about the philosophy that is noded which, run for the hills oh mighty organisations and archaic outmoded businessfolk, is all about individuals. I feel as if I have been noded for some time. It's getting the others to think like that too. Nice philosophy. But so was the white bicycle of the freethinking, liberated 1960s. Great speaker, mind, and a tad trippy with it - either that or I'd had too much coffee already.
Ah, Charles Arthur. The Grauniad's Tech Ed. 'Newspapers are Changing - Are You?' was his title. Charles told us about his evolving role, his loathing of press releases, his changing news sources (they are "meeting people, twitter, in excess of 500 RSS feeds, news websites, the occasional press release via email. I'd rather not use press releases at all"). He has no time for anniversary journalism, no time, in case we hadn't heard it, for press releases. Most of his ideas come from his blog consumption and, he pointed out, the Grauniad finds writers through blogs. Embargoes, in case you're a PRO intent on sending him a press release that he won't use, are pointless due to the rapid speed that news rolls at these days. Charles and his colleagues at the Graun no longer think of writing for a physical media; they write for web first then re-purpose. He is a man who 'gets it' and the need to engage with readers.
Yorkshire Forward's Stuart McFarlane was, perhaps, always going to struggle taking to the podium after such a fine speaker and wearing such thick, bottle-bottom glasses. His summary of the Digital Britain Report was...well, it was that. Public money. Being invested. Yorkshire the innovator. YF in conversation with KC, Hull CC, Hull Forward, usual suspects, etc etc. I'm sure some people like this kinda thing.
Mike Butcher I liked. Mad and as funny as a box of frogs with a 'prison gag' jokebook, he's the UK and Europe Editor of Techcrunch. "Product," he told any prospective startups in the room, "is a must". He hailed the return of professional content and targeted editorial. Amen to that. "And why does anyone need to know you're even from Hull?" he asked, in the home of Hull City AFC and Hull FC, "Internationalise!!!" A question led to the revelation that there is a group of Angels with money to burn in Yorkshire. They gather under the fine, Flintstonesesque acronym YABA.
Rob Palmer, Newcastle Upon Tyne born web designer who has branded himself as branded07.com. He likes birds. In his designs, that is. The programme noted that Rob is "famous for his Puffins". In simpler days, when print was king, those Puffins were an imprint of Penguin. But no more, they're Rob's now. "Effective over flashy," was Rob's mantra, summing up that good design, well-written copy and cutting edge interactivity will get you far. I also sensed a little anti-IE6 in the room.
Kai Gait is the Digital Commerce Marketing Manager for GlaxoSmithKline, which leads me to believe his business cards must be wider than the norm. Oh, the pharmaceutical world sounds a thrilling place to operate. Especially when Kai refers to it as 'pharma' which brings to mind a world of manual labour, shovels, manure, livestock and milk maids, as opposed to prescription drugs with bad side effects. "Build for search, write for search," he said, between highlighting the strict codes of the pharma industry that prevent him idling his days away on social networks.
AudioBoo's Karen Barber, bless her, had a 'mare. I've not watched anything like it since Tommy Cooper died on stage during Live From Her Majesty's pulling a ladder between his legs and/or that time that Ricky Gervais danced like a dad at a disco in front of a sold-out Wembley Stadium audience. I was beginning to wonder if Kai was going to have to administer some GSK sedatives but, thankfully, Karen's shaky ways subsided and she got into her stride once the slides moved round to booing proper.
In the headline slot and rounding things off in stye was Anand Verma, of Sapient Interactive. They have big clients. He had a nice presentation and a lovely demeanour that sucked me right in and had me nodding my head enthusiastically at the news that "the linear world has become a diffuse brand experience". I had knocked back around 20 mugs of coffee by this time, mind. Anyway, trends: #1 physical meets digital; #2 social media and distributed content enabling communities; #3 mobile marketing; #4 augmented reality; #5 next generation. Listening and targeting. "I feel like I'm summing up the whole day," chuckled Anand, knowing that he was, the clever fella. He showed us some augmented reality, which saw a piece of paper wafted in front of a webcam bring forth, Aleister Crowley Magick stylee, a plasma tv. No, it wasn't the coffee.
And that, give or take the usual sponsors mentions and many thanks raining down on several people who needed a nap by then, including organiser Jon Moss, was that. Well done Hull Digital 09, you done good and were a right proper conference. Is it the future? Is it now? Or is it the 21st century equivalent of vintage Pyrex dishware? We shall see. Probably this time next year.
Was in Scarborough last night. Should really blog about why I've been heading up there. I will. Problem with heading to North Yorkshire at night is that, if you're there beyond lighting up time, there's no public transport to bring you back. So, a kind soul gave me a lift back into East Yorks, to Bridlington Train Station. Not only that, but they arranged for the Station Buffet to be opened especially for me. The place is leased and operated by a nice gent called John Sadler, who kept me company for the hour that I had to kill between arriving in Brid and the train departing for Hull. I bought a couple of pints of Amstel and, after explaining that I was knocking back ale in one of only three surviving original station buffets in the country, John told me all about the collection of rail memorabilia that he's collected since taking the place over. He was a funny guy. He had some good signs mounted on the walls, amid brass plaques and nameplates aplenty, as you can see from the pic. Apparently, the place has had a lot of media coverage and the latest visitor with a camera crew was Michael Portillo, who was in town to film his Great Train Journeys series (the journey this time around being Liverpool to Scarborough via Hull). John reckons it will be broadcast next year. "He filmed me sat in here" said John, nodding in the general direction of the bar, the terrazzo floor and mahogany skirting boards, "then he caught me later watering the flowers." There's a big crack in the floor, the result of a train crashing into the buffers a few years ago. Other problems at the station have included gangs of youths hanging around, abusing drugs and beating up the odd passenger waiting on the platform. "They used to bother us a lot. So I started to lock the station and when there was any trouble I'd phone the police and ask them to log the incident. They soon started taking it seriously." John told me about the night someone was stabbed and how his sixth sense now helps him spot "them that's after trouble." He looked at me and I wondered if his sixth sense was kicking in. "I know when it's about to kick off," he chuckled. Brief encounter indeed.I have just ordered Boys From The Blackstuff. Seen bits of it on youtube but not watched it since it was originally screened. Should be £.6.99 well spent. It is television from the time when television was a succession of major events, although I might be wearing rose-tinted false-memory glasses. Like those that Peter Kay wears when he's talking about dunking biscuits. Do you remember biscuits?
I had a nice cup of coffee in Hull Truck this morning. Still not got round to eating there, although M's had a few bites and spoken highly of the scran on offer. Other people, like Sue here, are also taking full advantage of the theatre's new food offer. I followed the coffee with a walk over to the Fruit Market to take some photographs. It rained. I was already full of cold or some other illness. So I took shelter in the recently reopened Minerva and had a medicinal pint of Carling Cold which, as Peter Kay will remember, used to be called Black Label. Back, that is, when Boys From The Blackstuff was on the box.
It must be hard, when you're sat in a city centre office in Hull, to contemplate mysterious worlds down under. Tonga, Samoa, heck, they're all the same, they're all hit by tsunamis and earthquakes, eh? Anyway, the rugby league prop Sam Moa has just signed a new two-year deal with Hull FC. With a name like that, I'm sure it was easy to think, from Hull, the Sam must be from Samoa. But no, he's from Tonga. Cue major newsbill fail at the Hull Daily Mail:
