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DF 40 - George Best, blissing with BA & competition winnersDecember 2005 Dear Friends The laundry is done, my suitcases are stashed away and I'm home for six weeks. The Gulf Stream is struggling - yet again - to return to the tropical depths after fresh water from melted ice in the Arctic has reduced the salinity of those northern waters. This means the current struggles to sink and return south at lower levels where it normally reheats and rises to return north and warm our shores. Consequently and paradoxically we are about to embrace another ice age as a direct result of global warming. Maybe this really is the time to explore some options. This year Maxfield Parrish stayed for longer than the usual brief autumnal visit; working his clever craft on the dying leaves and taking extra care with the backdrop of Golden Cap and its reflection in the innocuous cold waters of Lyme Bay; even my dog Meghan paused (sorry) in her squirrel-chase to sniff the wondrous magic of a freezing early November day. Now - a month later - the sea boils in cold fury and the telegraph wires whistle like the rigging on a yacht. I can't see far through the sleeting squalls and the darkening skies so it's definitely time to get blown inside out. C'mon dog, walkies - but first I'll finish typing this or it will never get done before the New Year. George Best died on Friday 25th November 2005. Quite regularly in '82 we'd play pool in the afternoons at a club called Rags in London; just the two of us in a small room set off the main bar. A pound a game was the usual bet with the idea that the winner would buy the drinks - a concept that did very little to improve the standard of play. George was very keen on 'double or quits' - an unnerving principal that can easily accelerate your losses at an exponential rate commensurate with your skills, or lack thereof. Our private game was soon discovered however and it was not unusual, by 4.30pm, to see an architrave of members clinging to the roped and curtained entrance to our hideaway. On one particular day I won the first two games and George said, 'double or quits then, that'll be four', which meant a stake of four pounds for the third frame. Chinese whispers got the better of us though when the barman served us another round of drinks and delivered the gossip. Someone in the doorway had said 'They're playing for four grand!!' Well that was it, George was cracking up and we decided to play along; so after three more losses George was standing to lose thirty two grand - according to the congregation. There were oohs and aaahs with each missed pot. Every now and then we'd pause for a chat; the tension in the audience was unbearable. George won that game and so the score was quits, at which point we tossed a coin to see who'd be paying for the drinks, only to find that our modest tab had been settled by a member; thrilled by the excitement and impressed by the nonchalant way the players had competed for such high stakes. Last year George kindly agreed to sit for an interview in connection with my documentary. We also have some film of us playing football together. Cheers mate, see you the next time around. I don't reminisce too often as there's too much to do, but I go through LHR frequently and memories are triggered as I fly over my old home. London HEATHROW airport is named after Hounslow Heath, where I played as a child and Dick Turpin rode as an outlaw, not contemporaneously though. Early days, or nights more like, I dreamed in drenched terror as Stratocruisers and Comets crashed explosively into the 104 acre field that - miraculously - still stands unclaimed for runway, terminal or further housing. Like the surviving patch of Cranford Park or The Heath itself, it remains a smallholding for ghosts (the Aviator). Anyway, there it was in the pages of another bloody miserable BA experience - Liar, Liar, Frequent Flier.So, I put a Bliss to my lips, focused upon a secret place, and then drew back gently. It went no further, but I'm sure my Bliss went straight to the patents office for registration to an official govt. thief, and will soon appear on the newsstands; no longer everlasting of course, but highly taxed, with additives and a suitable stigma. There will have to be a stigma in order to justify the death threats shown on the packaging, and it must be chemically addictive so that the revenue source will not dry up. However they are easy enough to make and the first experiences of group Blissing left me in no doubt at all; I know what you're thinking. Then I stared for an hour at a partially complete Sudoku - in the category diabolical - wondering with some strange nervous excitement where the devil I'd gone wrong. The main thrill of this temporary diversion is getting back to work with a pencil - stationary fetishist that I am - and a sharpener; that ingenious device which contains the shavings but is no help at all with the detritus from the erasures. We have winners, yes winners of the last competition, from DF 38: see below. I was very impressed with the standard of entry. Everyone showed a consistently high degree of wit and outrage. I thank you; we'll be in touch to help you claim your prizes. Would you not agree that the reportage was far more degrading than the snortage in the Kate Moss affair? Best TV experience of the year was watching Tony Parsons being shredded by Diane Abbott on the BBC 1 current affairs This Week - hosted by Andrew Neil and this week sub-titled: Portillo's Peccadilloes. For those of you who have not read it yet, may I recommend The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - Alexander McCall Smith. During a recent football match between Manchester United and Chelsea there was a total of seven yellow cards; each of which carries a contribution towards an aggregate, resulting in punishment i.e. missed games. Strangely enough not one of these cards was shown for foul play: 60 min: Drogba (Chelsea) Dissent Interesting? I thought not. Daft? Oh yes! I shall now disappear into the mist; see you all again in the New Year. Have a rapturous festive season and - whoever your chosen god - may your prayers be answered.
Competition results from the last DF:There was a high standard of entry and I found it hard to select the winners. Names on the short list were (some of you people should see a doctor in the not too distant future): John Marshall; DW; Raj Tiwari; Rolando Paolone; Michael Burrows; Ralf Kwaschik; Irene Fung; Joel Advincula; Jerry Fielden; Allen Crumm; Andy Jones; Korhan Olcer Keith Thompson; Tom Dixon; Jutta Thurm; Iain Harnish; Frank Fitzgerald; Jonathan Leighton Brown; Terry Hough; Rich Franz; Charlie Jeffreys; Tom Green; Martin Cook; David Pugliese; Brent Soileau; Doug Smith and Ann E. Thomann. From there I whittled it down to the final three - alright four, I couldn't decide - and here they are with their entries:
From Ann E. Thomann In response to your most interesting article of Thursday 14th July 2005, I must question two points made. I do not believe that all musicians will oppose the 'criminalisation of live music.' On the contrary, it has been brought to my attention that certain pop artists (sorry, I can't name anyone specific)are secretly behind the whole thing. These individuals are conspiring with government officials in order to continue to profit from what they do best; Hiding in recording studios, making expensive and very tacky promotional videos and giving hour-long interviews without actually saying a thing, hence, avoiding life on the road entirely. They already consider touring a thing of the past. With minimal stage exposure, they no longer have to practice lip- synching in front of a mirror only to be caught with their pants down during one of their 'concerts' anyway. You see, so many have suffered this humiliation that the only solution is to stop the real musicians from competing with this new type of artist. (I must unfortunately use the word 'compete' because this is how the music industry seems to view music nowadays). Why endure long bus rides, lost luggage and months away from home if you can earn a comfortable income making videos and reality shows? These folks don't even have to change out of their pyjamas and someone else does their hair and make-up! My final point is regarding the 20,000 pound fine and jail term. I agree that the government may regard this as a deterrent in England for now, but as society changes and youth become more and more americanized due to exposure to the media, prison is merely another opportunity for greater success! Yes, jail is excellent for publicity and enables the artist to gain street credibility before the fans, as well as free food and Cable TV. If a pop star's main marketing tool is 'image' six months in jail could mean the difference between a high paying record deal and flipping burgers. Ann E. Thomann
From Andrew Jones In respect of the laws outlined in your letter, it is clearly inaccurate to report that any musician will be allowed to play under licence. This is in clear contradiction of the petition drawn up by the Noise Abatement Society for the abolition of any sound travelling further than three metres, as this is an infringement of basic human rights. Although not musicians, any future reunion by the Spice Girls would be covered by this Act on the basis that mime artists would be assumed to be taking the piss. This Act also applies to whistling although the report fails to mention that jailbirds will be able to ignore the rule on the basis that 1)They are already in prison and 2) Nobody gives two hoots whether they are guilty or not. The Dancing Act will not come into force until the term is suitably defined in law. As so ably demonstrated by Prescott and friends on Labour's election night victory, dancing is subject to criminal abuse. To be able to dance within the required legal groups each person will be tested to ensure that no subversive tendencies are displayed that could corrupt community dancing - a strict dress code of either pin stripe suits or cotton trader shirts with chinos will be enforced for men. In addition to the above, the following edicts will also be enforced by Blair's Reich: - It will soon be a crime to pass wind without clearance from the Met Office - No one can speak publicly without clearance from a spin doctor - No movement is allowed outdoors alone without a full itinerary being presented to, and approved by, the Deputy Head of Pavement Resurfacing at the local council. As someone said; ˜No drinks, no smokes, no dicking around, no dirty jokes!!!! All the best
From David Churchyard When a statement is declared to be unbelievable, our sense of incredulity comes from the fact that, whilst a concept might appear highly unlikely, it is in fact true. However, when a statement is unbelievable because of the obviously erroneous nature of its content, (e.g. the moon is made of green cheese), then it is unbelievable because it is, in fact, not true. Therefore, I would suggest that all five statements in Dear Friends are both totally unbelievable and, frankly, unbelievable! Best wishes, David Churchyard
From Jonathan L. Brown The part of the article that is unbelievable is that the prohibition on singing stops at the M25. Given that the international brotherhood of bureaucrats transcends national boundaries, surely the breed over there exhibits the same grasping desire to control everything, especially the mundane, as exhibited so well by our common North American variety. Thus, it is inconceivable that such a creature would accept limitation by geography on the random imposition of power. Their natural habits would require that the prohibition on singing not only be extended throughout the territorial boundaries of the UK, but should also call for a UN treaty to enforce the ban on a global scale. I also refuse to accept that there would be an exception for owls. It might give the wrong impression that reality entered into the decision-making process. Jonathan
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