AndyBlog

Back on the radio

So, after a break of two weeks, I'm getting ready to do my internet radio show again.

I've grown to really appreciate what doing the show does for me - because it's quite a lot. To start with, it's helped me to get in touch with much m ore of the sort of music that I love, and in selecting that music helped me to define just what it is I like in a record.

A good example of this is that I now realise that I like a good bit of folk and even a bit of country music. These are music styles which I might have expressed dislike of before doing the radio thing. They interest me particularly when they reach the edge of their genre and start to become new age/jazz. I really do love fusion music, and I play a lot of it.

So, I'm getting an education and fulfilling my desire to be a showman, whilst bringing folks together a bit and - hopefully - having some fun along the way. There's more to it than that, but if it were just that, it would already be more than enough.

It's a lot of work getting prepared, but definitely worth it. Having said that, when we go live at 10pm (British Summer Time) on Wednesday night, there may be no listeners after such a long break. We shall see.

If you fancy joining us for the re-launch of AD-LIB Radio on its new Broadband service, take a look at www.adlib.co.uk for details of how to connect to the stream from your computer.

I never intended this to be just an advert, but I guess I couldn't resist. The point, form a personal point of view, is that I am very much looking forward to being back. Should be fun. Soapy fun.

Foreigners are SO funny

There can be no absolutely ideal address in this world, but in so far as there can, here it is.

Received today as the return address for a screen protector I bought from Hong Kong. I ruined the screen protector, naturally, so I am glad the address gave me such pleasure.

“Kok Tsui”  sounds like some sort of extreme cuisine to me....

I'm glad I don't have to return this product, as dictating the building name to the counter staff could prove tricky.

When good barbecues go bad...

In all my years of marriage and, previous to that, many years of family life, I have never once done a barbecue. Sure, I have attended the barbecues of others, but I have never before personally initiated this peculiar flesh-burning ritual.

And so it was that this afternoon, Fiona and myself found ourselves partaking of a “Barby”.

The part-cooked sausages finished of nicely on the cheap ASDA tin-foil-barbecue. Spurred on by success, we moved onto the pork ribs.

Big mistake.

They look nice, don't they? - sizzling away on the stove, smelling delicious. (click on this movie)

They continued to smell delicious, for quite a while. We even ate some at one point, just to break the monotony. At this point they looked cooked but, despite the barbecue sauce in which they had been thoroughly soaked, they were pretty tough.

So we cooked them a lot more. Finally, they were so carbonised on the outside that they HAD to be cooked inside.

Wrong.

In the end, we achieved that age-old barbecue combination:

Burned on the outside, raw on the inside.

I vote for chicken and burger next time - or maybe to par-cook the ribs in the oven first.

Still, the potato salad was nice, and my clothes are well and truly smoked. I believe, also, that Holly was very satisfied with the outcome, which tended to favour her.

Tragedy

When we witness the indiscriminate killing of innocent individuals, it is always a tragedy - wherever in the world it happens. When it happens close to home, it manages to be yet more shocking.

Much has been written about the terror attacks on London in these last few days, and I certainly have nothing to add from a news perspective. What I do have to say is that, unless we are very careful, the attackers in this case may well succeed.

The reason I say this is that I fully take on board the idea that their intention is to stoke up racial hatred and division, particularly against Moslem people. Already a friend confided in me, whilst arriving from London at a French airport, on the morning of the attack:

“There were armed police everywhere, and they were pulling anyone out of the queue who was even slightly brown-skinned.”

That, to me, is the heart of it. Suspicion is raised against people who look “Moslem”, for want of a better word. In short, even in the so-called 'interests of security', racism is being practised.

I wonder what Mr. Average is telling his daughter and his son?  Is he saying:

“Ignore what you hear in the playground at school, whilst the people who did these bombings may possibly have dark skin, most foreign people are as genuine and peace-loving as we are.”

Or is he saying:

“You want to watch out for those dark-skinned foreigners. Those kinds of people do bombings like this - don't trust them.”

I believe the best way to triumph over this awful happening is to continue to live in peace and harmony with those around us, showing respect for our differing cultures and ways of living. To allow even the tiniest shard of hate or resentment into our thoughts is to offer the victory to those who seek only to destroy and divide.

Having had a lovely time

It's been a great time away.

The first three days were very quiet, because Fiona was working at the University, but these last two days we have been doing holiday things.

Put simply, on Thursday we “did Cambridge” - and on Friday we drove out to the coast and visited my childhood remembered place of Lowestoft.

Tomorrow, we will return home, but not before one last visit to a couple of places in Cambridge itself. I need to take something back, and we need some more special Cambridge Chelsea Buns. They are completely amazing - and very different to normal. A photo will be taken, I assure you. If you visit us the very moment we arrive back, you might just get a bite of the last one - that is assuming we buy 567 of those little tinkers. Wow! So nice.

I am having difficulty posting tonight, and the problems seem to be with pictures, so I will keep this entry short and not include any pictures, in the hope of getting the site to take the posting.

More in full with pix when I am safely home.

Sheesh! Kebab...

Whilst searching for a picture of a shish-kebab, I happened across this masterpiece of a man's head, sculpted beautifully out of beef and lamb kebab meat, and I thought you might like to see it. When displayed, it revolves on the machine. Pure poetry. I do hope they refrigerate it overnight though...

Before you read the rest of this posting, I would like to point out that no-one was harmed, and that I ended up with a delicious kebab as a result. Everything was fine.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Fiona fancied cheese on toast, and I fancied a kebab the other night. Nothing wrong in that, you might think - and, indeed, there is not.

So, I skipped off to our local “Istanbul Kebab House”, which is just round the corner from this flat. It's a lovely place, full of signs saying stuff like:  “No cheques, credit cards or anything at all whatsoever accepted here, apart from cold hard cash. So watch it, sonny.”

Nevertheless, the kebabs both looked and smelled great, so - cash in hand - I entered, eager to partake. No sooner had I ordered, when a large motorbike roared up outside the door. The rider came into the shop - pushed to the front of the counter and did not remove what can only be described as a massive black shiny helmet.

I was a little unsettled. There proceeded an animated discussion twixt rider and kebab-house owner. It was in a language which I do not understand, but which I presume to be Turkish or some dialect of Turkish.

[ In order to be comfortably accurate, I should point out that the category: “Languages which I do not understand”, is a very large and exhaustive category, extending to literally every language in the world, with the possible exception of English. ]

I digress.

The discussion became so heated that I started to wish I was not in the room at all. My mind was racing through all the scary possibilities that this situation suggested. Thankfully, after a few minutes the dialogue quietened down a little, and the shop-owner hastily put together a donor kebab and a portion of chips.

The rider grabbed them eagerly and left without paying.

Soon, but only after a very load roar from the motorbike, the rider was gone into the night. There was an uneasy moment as my eyes met with the kebab shop owner's eyes. He obviously felt the need for some sort of explanation - but when it came, it was surprisingly short and rather alarming, on several levels.

The man simply said:  “Sorry. That was my wife.”