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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALLEGRA
Verscace's 18-year old niece (above left with her rather less attractive mother, Donatella) inherits a £100m fortune today. She already owns a mansion on the shores of Lake Como, a palazzo in Milan and a large house in Manhattan. Allegra was her Uncle Gianni's clear favourite and when the 'colourful' designer was shot dead outside his Miami home in 1997, she became the sole heir of his 50 per cent share of the family business. Somewhat distressingly for the fashionistas, Allegra, a paragon of sartorial elegance, has expressed no interest in the family business and eschews the outrageous 'style' preferred by her mother in favour of more casual attire. Gents, form an orderly queue this way, please. |
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1.7.04 10:11 |
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REST EASY
I've just heard the sad news that fellow blogger Agony Bitch and her boyfriend were tragically killed at the weekend in a car crash. I didn't know her personally - just the her that she opened up through her blog here on 20six, but in some respects, that's a lot better than I know a lot of people. What is there to say? Wherever she and her boyfriend are now, I'm sure they feel no pain. It's the gaping hole they've both left behind which can never be filled and the pain their loved ones and those closest to them are feeling that will be in my thoughts tonight. Death is rarely hard for those that leave us, but it's a tough call for those left behind. My thoughts are to those grieving for them tongiht. And to you two - rest at peace. |
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1.7.04 23:22 |
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Top Gear
Filming at Top Gear studios, Surrey, 13th June 2004. f4.5 @ 1/40 sec , 32mm. As the ensuing episode screened at 22:00 instead of its normal time of 21:00 due to Euro 2004, the normal audience of 7million viewers probably deserted in droves. I was on screen for a good 20 minutes, but I always look different on TV so that even my own mother has difficulty in recognising me. And yes, Richard Hammond really is that small. Nice guy, though. |
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7.7.04 12:43 |
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BETWEEN THE LINES
Full marks to satellite channel UK Drama for screening Between the Lines, which can be seen nightly at 22:50hrs. The series originally screened 1992 to November 1994 and it remains one of the best-written TV dramas ever produced, drawing on that old fall-back for uninspired writers, the police. What made Between the Lines different was its focus on Scotland Yard's Complaints Investigation Bureau, the division responsible for investigating the Met's police officers - Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodes? - as well as its upmarket production values and pacy, edgy writing. The acting was top-notch too, with Neil Pearson playing the embattled investigator Det. Supt Tony Clark. Last night's episode was one of the best ever, Some Must Watch..., which is the 5th episode from series two. Writer Rob Heyland delivers a complex conspiracy thriller in which CIB comes up against MI5 and finds itself outflanked on every side. With superiors on both sides seeming to be more concerned with fighting each other than terrorists and criminals, Tony and his friends find themselves caught in the crossfire. At first their investigation into the killing of a caretaker at a Territorial Army Centre points to a botched MI5 operation, then to police incompetence, then back to a very secret project that the Home Office are intent on covering up, regardless of legality. It introduces us to the character of MI5 liaison officer Angela Berridge, nicely played and understated by the elegant Francesca Annis who smoulders her way through series two and in a sub-text which sees Clark falling for her in a torrid affair (is there any other kind?). I've been rather industrious these past couple of weeks but last week saw me finally breaking the back of a load of commissons which I've had outstanding from before my trip to Iraq. I spent all day thursday and friday writing, turning out a total of 12 features on subjects as diverse as the Ministry of Sound, an interview with the Royal Navy's first female warship commander Lt. Cdr. Charlotte Atkinson, and one of my all time heroes, General Sir Peter de la Billiere (below) who remains one of the most decorated officers in British military history.
I don't know why, but Iraq had a profound effect on my industriousness and I found myself suffering the worst case of writers' block I've ever known - and it's not something I've ever been prone to before. Consequently, although I've been turning out commissions for other publications, my work for the press agency seems to have suffered most and some of those stories I finally found the inspiration to tackle last week have been outstanding since february. The net result is that I've cleared the decks of all outstanding writing which leaves me with nothing to do until August, so plenty of time for seeking new commissions. Tuesday of this week saw me finally delivering all 12 outstanding stories to my editor at the press agency before being taken out for a most enjoyable lunch by himself, my news editor and 5 other hacks, which perhaps inevitably led toan afternoon at the agency's local watering hole. I even found a £5.00 note on the pavement as we wandered to the pub from the restaurant! Went out for a meal at our local Thai restaurant last night with freinds Nick and Eva to take advantage of the fact that somebody there forgot to reappply for the establishment's licence to sell alcohol in time and its subsequent accidental status as a Bring Your Own. Now BYO's are a fantastic concept but sadly in short supply here unless one wants to travel to Brick Lane for a curry. Upmarket restaurants such as this one see terrific markup on alcohol with wine selling at something like 400% of its normal high street price. Hence last night we ate like Kings and drank copious quantities of fine wine ending the night with a bill which was at least 50% lower than we would normally expect there. Bliss - and it will continue to be until August when the restaurant can expect to sell alcohol again, so I dare say we will be taking advantage again. |
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8.7.04 12:23 |
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PRIMEVAL MAN WEARS A SUIT
Now that I’m freelance and based in an office at home, it's always something of a pleasure when I have to retrace old steps and revisit my old commuter route. Now, without the pressure or dread of a train delivering me to a job that has lost its lustre, I can relax and really engage with my environment, indulging in observing my fellow passengers. The journey itself always has rather a lot to offer – it’s all there if one wants to take a look. There can be few places more interesting than Kings Cross station on a Friday afternoon for example, a complete microcosm of human drama, acted out on a stage for the world to see. All travellers conspire to star in this impromptu production of all that I love best about human nature – the blessed and the cursed, the lovesick and the lonely. Bound for a meeting with my editor on Tuesday, I was sat next to the most gorgeous woman on the 11:29 to Kings Cross, making it nigh on impossible for me to concentrate on my newspaper for any length of time. She was alluring, burning with a self-assured yet vulnerable air that was the epitome of distraction to anyone with x-y chromosomes and a pulse. Dressed in a sleeveless, diaphanous blouse, short skirt and impossibly long legs, which led to a delicious pair of fuck-me boots - the uniform of choice for 70% of girls in the City during the summer months - she was fantasy made real. It was all largely academic however, as within a nano-second of seeing her, she was naked in my mind’s eye and we were engaged in all sorts of sinful acts, any one of which would have been enough to have me ex-communicated by the Catholic Church. It's not like I had any control over the thoughts, either - they arrived from my subconscious unbidden, before I'd even registered the girl's image and then disappeared just as quickly. When we alighted, I was rewarded with a smile, but it wasn’t so much the woman who garnered my attention then as the way other men reacted when they saw her. She looked stunning, and it was a delight to watch others, so captivated by this anonymous stranger. People are so interesting when they are candid in their actions, unawares of the eyes of others. Human nature fascinates me with a passion that few subjects have the capacity to match. I find the whole science of anthropology so interesting – why we are how we are? We have far more in common with our primieval ancestors than most of us realise. So many of our modern rituals, rites of passage, and actions have their roots firmly in the past. So much of what we take for granted - and even those acts which we question – can be traced back to our beginnings, when society existed only in fledgling form. As hunter-gatherers, our species has evolved to a state whereby the sheer array of potential mates is staggering. Whereas our ancestors needed only satisfy themselves that a partner was of the opposite sex, we are today presented with a choice so bewildering, the parameters are almost too wide to define. Biological conditioning however has left its legacy, whereby our behaviour motivates us to constantly scan for potential mates It's that primeval instinct that underlines almost every aspect of our behaviour although it has a propensity to manifest itself at the most unwelcome at times. In the club, supermarket or on a train, it's fine. It's when you're driving that problems occur! Drivers, bikers, truckers, cyclists and pedestrians…there are no tribal definitions here because that instinctive and subconscious scanning for potential mates (regardless of whether or not we really want one!) unifies us all. Regardless of any road-going cliques we may be a member of, it's a hangover from society's earliest days which acts as a common thread, binding us all together. Quite simply, if you’re male and you use the road, any woman between the ages of 17 and 55 is a hazard. Target fixation is a real concern here and the end result is often the same as if you focus on the apex of a corner when you should be looking at the exit. Fancy picking your teeth out of the boot of that BMW X5 in front of you? Go on, have a look. Like you’re in with a chance!
You don't even need to be driving to get yourself into trouble. When was the last time you were out with your other half and your eye wandered discreetly? And I'll bet you thought you were being subtle, too - like the object of your desire passed on your side of the pavement and you didn't even twist your head to sneak a look, did you? A word to the wise though... However discreet you think you are, bear in mind that she’ll have appeared on your wife/girlfriend's radar with its 180-degree sweep (her peripheral vision is miles ahead of yours, another throwback to primeval times), long before your subconscious even registered the target that earned you a dig in the ribs. We like to think that modern society is so much above the animalistic behaviour of our predecessors, almost as if that belief reassures us of our civility. But it’s a fragile web which we weave – scratch beneath the surface of whom and what we are, and those appearances no longer serve to deceive. Almost everything we do in life – the way we court, the way we treat our young, the way we mate and form relationships – has changed little from its form when man first walked on two legs. Why does society depart so radically from what nature has intended for us? Everything we do has its origins in necessity – nature, and its facilitator, evolution are behind everything about us, and all things happen for a reason. The biggest questions therefore, are the ones that anthropologists can’t answer. Why for instance, does nature make us capable of procreation at such a young age when society and our own code of ethics dictate that we must wait another decade? Anthropologists have pieced together an almost complete jigsaw of our evolution, with few pieces missing. As in many arenas though, this is just another arena where the evidence of science and the belief of religion collide. According to anthropologists, almost all of society’s ills - men’s views on women, society’s views on prostitution, our very natures – can be attributed to the pious, male founders of modern religions. Desmond Morris has suggested that Islam, Christianity and Hinduism are all misogynistic in outlook, placing far greater emphasis on the supremacy of the male than biology dictates is right - our distant ancestors practised a sexual equality that was only disturbed with the founding of urban societies and with them, organised religions. We are so advanced in some ways, yet in others we haven’t moved at all; in evolutionary terms, we may be wearing suits, but we’re still walking on all fours. |
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9.7.04 14:06 |
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FORMULA LONDON
I don't want to like Formula 1. At least, that's what I've been telling myself for the past five years or so as it's become ever more monotonous and unexciting. But even I have to admit, I've become a little caught up in all the hype of late and the prospect of London staging a round through its labrynthine streets is surely something to aspire to, regardless of the attendent hassle and inconvenince - what a specatcle, what a fillip to the economy. What kudos! Despite my better judgement, I found myself glued to the TV for yesterday's round at Silverstone, the first I've watched since Mansell was world champion, and I actually enjoyed it. There's something about the excess of it all, the rarefied atmosphere of that most exclusive of clubs that makes the little boy in me really wake up and I can't help thinking, "If only things had been different". Anyone else feel the same way? |
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12.7.04 12:04 |
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THIRTEEN
My daughter A will be 14 in a couple of months. She's smart, sassy and well spoken and she's doing brilliantly at school. So why should I worry? On saturday, we went to Steve and Elaine's for a barbeque with Nick and Eva and our respective kids, together with a few mutual friends of ours and a few of the girls' girlfriends. It was Steve and Elaine's daughter's birthday so we had adult fun with beer and wine and conversation whilst the girls had a bouncy castle and each other. Eight thirteen and fourteen year olds. They hadn't spoken beforehand, but they were all wearing the same thing. All dressed in black logo tops. All wearing the same white joggers and trainers. And all with the same hairstyles. And what's this thong thing? At 13? Girls weren't this self aware when we were that age, were they? I know it's the teenage thing. I know that she's just acting normally for somebody her age, trying to establish her own identity, break out of the parental mould and establish the parameters. But it was never like this for other generations, was it? This constant bombardment through the media, the web, of excess. They know more, are more self aware, more media savvy than ever we were at that age. I took her and her friend to school this morning and listening to them talk in the back of the car was like listening in on a foriegn language. You know how you can tell immediately that you dive in to some of the blogs here on 20six that the authors are between 13 and 15 just from the syntax, written in txt spk? It's the verbal equivalent of that and it's unintelligible to anyone over the age of 20 without simultaneous translation. Help, I'm only 36! I'm not old enough to feel this old and out of touch yet. She bought me the DVD of the film 'Thirteen' for Fathers' Day this year. Is she trying to tell me something? |
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12.7.04 12:40 |
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