Thoroughly Good Blog

Slideshow: Children in Need 2008

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 10:30:29 -0800

Backstage at Children in Need 2008

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Me and a Celeb

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 18:04:31 -0800

Me and a Celeb
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

Pudsey agreed to have his picture taken at Children In Need 2008.

I didn't spend very much time in his company. He was very busy.

Still, he did agree to have his picture taken.

He seemed like a nice bear, it has to be said.

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TV: Graham Norton Show (4.7 13 November 2008)

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 15:35:23 -0800

Get him on TV more
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

Robin Williams was the only guest on the Graham Norton Show this week - any other guest would have been sidelined - in what often felt like a treat of a show, not least because we don't see the man on screen anywhere near enough.

Sure, his voice-overs in various Disney films has kept the man gainfully employed, but there's absolutely no substitute for seeing him do his usual shtick in person.

Nice music from Estelle at the end of the show too. If there's one thing Mr Norton's show can be relied on, it's the quality of the musical contributions.

More here.

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Children in Need

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 09:49:09 -0800

Proudly worn
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

I have a spring in my step at the moment. Not only have I finally managed to get into work on time on three consecutive days (something of a rariety for me) but I've cracked on with a recently self-appointed task.

Progress has been slow but sure. There's been a lot of mouse clicks, tutting, puffing and moaning on my part, not to mention innumerable windows alerts ringing in my headphones whenever I click on the wrong thing.

Even so, I am sniffing the very real smell of nearby smug self-satisfaction. The task is nearing completion. I feel like awarding myself my very own certificate, framing it and attaching it to my desk divider. Although, on second thoughts, it's probably "cooler" to dream about Friday evening instead.

Friday evening, you see, sees quite an exciting event for me. I was reminded about it when I received an email from a colleague inviting me to a meeting to discuss the "Children in Need Backstage Photography Schedule".

It's a simple and relatively uninspiring task - certainly not one you'd immediately imagine would inspire a blog posting. Me and a bunch of similarly helpful and charming volunteers will be documenting backstage goings on at this year's Children in Need fundraiser. I'm told that the good shots will appear on the website. I advise you here and now that I'm doing this for charidee.

It's hardly a big thing, is it? I know freelance photographers who consider this kind of work as paid work. Why get excited about taking pictures?

It's not, as you might be thinking, the opportunity to meet celebrities. Whilst there will be a number around - although at present noone's telling me who exactly as everything's strictly embargoed - I always find myself over-compensating when I see them. Treat them normally, I reassure myself. They're not that special. It's not like they're gods or anything. They're just human beings who, when prodded, will turn to the camera, plaster on a smile and wait for the shutter to clunk open and shut.

What gives me the buzz is the prospect of hanging around a live television event. There's something inexplicably exciting about being present in and around the vicinity of something occuring in a studio. The opportunity to witness people running around in an organised panic, with earphones clamped to their ears,

walky-talkies hanging out of their back-pocket is something too good to miss.

And then there's Television Centre on a Friday night. The audience arrives, queuing up in the chilly air on Wood Lane. You start recognising people whose names are a complete mystery. There's an urgency in the air. Areas of the building previously accessible by anyone with a pass are unexpectedly roped off.

Portable TV lights are set up in weird and seemingly unnattractive places. In short, Television Centre and its environs is turned into one massive TV set.

There's a buzz about the place in all its weird, grey iconic sixties-designed madness. It's the place to be to feel a part of things during a live event. It is perhaps the time and place when the BBC truly comes alive, when it's raison d'etre becomes obvious to even the most hard-hearted individual.

"Helping out" at Children in Need is something of a perk working for the BBC. For most people I suspect that White City is the last place they'd want to be late on a Friday night. I'm rather looking forward to it myself. I shall wear my Team Pudsey t-shirt with pride, even if I will end up blending seamlessly into the background amongst the hoards of other people decked out the same. I do hope the kiddies appreciate it.

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Christmas: Research

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 15:52:51 -0700

Baking research
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

Since returning from holiday, I've set my sights on one very important goal.

It may seem to early to be thinkign about it, but as much as people want to deny it Christmas is coming.

With such an important celebration coming up, some individuals find shameless self-gratification in the creation of a whole variety of foodstuffs we wouldn't otherwise eat ourselves or offer up as gifts to friends of family.

Those same people suddenly start pouring over recipe books in a bid to find the formula for the perfect Christmas. If we can only find the perfect recipe we could, potentially, give the perfect gift.

According to Delia Smith, I should technically be starting the prep for the stalwart Christmas cake on Thursday night. Brilliant. I rub my hands together with glee. I get to start the cooking process on Thursday night. I can't wait.

Then there's the preserves (apparently, again according to Delia, these have to be left in a cupboard for three months before consumption) and sundry sweet titbits.

All of this adds up hours of baking joy to be had in the run up to the main event.

Normally I'm foaming at the mouth when I clap eyes on wrapping paper or gift catalogues or big expensive gifts showcased in high street stores and internet websites. But where food is concerned, forward planning is not only fun and acceptable but advisable to.

Such a shame that work is getting in the way.

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Culture: Victoria and Albert Museum

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 12:52:23 -0700

Whatshisname, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

We went to the Victoria and Albert Museum today to see the Cold War Modern exhibition. Good stuff. Contrary to the sneery man I overheard complaining he felt the exhibition had lost it's thread part way through, I really liked it - especially the space stuff.

After a brief toilet break, there was just enough time to assess the catering facilities. A special review of the Garden Cafe here.

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TV: Graham Norton Show

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 22:54:04 -0700

Better looking in
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

I resisted watching the Graham Norton Show when it returned four it's fourth series a couple of weeks ago. I'm normally a stalwart fan. This series I found it difficult to immerse myself in it. I suspect it has something to do with work and not being quite as involved as I have been previously.

However, it appeared that the Sky+ box had other ideas and recorded the thing anyway. Consequently I ended up watching the Graham Norton Show Uncut from last week featuring crazy Cyndi Lauper and adorable Jennifer Saunders.

Lots of entertaining fluff between Lauper, Saunders and Norton (the section featuring the focus group was unexpectedly fun) and confirmation from Saunders that Fox really are going to remake Absolutely Fabulous in the US. Unlike what Variety were saying on 6 October, Saunders says she won't be involved in the production process.

Catch it on iPlayer if you can http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00dyf5v

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A big day awaits

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 05:00:47 -0700

Setting up stage
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

There's a large crown outside our bedroom window. It's lifting all sorts of heavy looking items from large lorries parked below us across to the side of the poolside. Lots of bronzed men busy themselves wheeling flight cases from here to there and back again.

Inside, the hotel's guest list has swelled considerably over the past 24 hours. The breakfast room is occupied by inconceivably handsome men with smouldering eyes and shaved faces accentuating chiselled jaws. I'm convinced they're parading around just to irritate me as I devour my plate of cheese, salami and salad for breakfast.

The twenty-something females aren't that much better either. They float around the corridors and restaurant, dressed in billowy-white tops. Pouting lips adorn otherwise expressionless faces decked out with designer sunglasses.

The tanned glamorous set is here at the Kempinski for what I'm told is a Turkish celebrity wedding this weekend. Suddenly I feel really awkwardly British and also fuelled by curiosity all at the same time.

Unfortunately, whilst my investigations have been productive I am unable to reveal the name of the groom (or the bride, for that matter). This isn't because I'm not allowed (although judging by the way the security glared at me when I took the picture above, I imagine there would be one or two furrowed brows if I did mention the names of the couple).

Part of the reason I can't reveal the name is because I've only heard it once. Was it Volkon somebody? Turkish names are phenomenally hard to recall or pronounce or even spell. I won't even try. Would hate to humiliate myself more than necessary.

What I am certain of is that the groom is a hotel owner from nearby Bodrum and that he is of sufficient standing to attract a great many glamorous individuals on yachts to come to his event and most importantly one of Turkey's greatest pop stars, a man called Kenan Dogulu.

Shamefully, I drew a complete blank when the waiter down by the beach bar handed back my notebook with the name of the artist written on it for me. Any Eurovision fans who are reading this (there aren't that many, I'm sure, even less now) will know that Kenan Dogulu represented Turkey in the 2007 Eurovision with his song Shake it Up. (On reflection, maybe this wasn't quite as embarrassing as I first thought. The waiter had no idea who Sertab Erener was which is surprising in the grand scheme of things considering she actually won the damn contest for Turkey in 2003).

Judging by the considerable size of the outdoor stage being constructed by the pool and that a day before the nuptials the infinity pool has been partialled covered by a temporary catwalk (I'm presuming its for Kenan to sing and gyrate on rather than some kind of impromptu fashion show) that Kenan is still really quite successful despite his Eurovision appearance in 2007.

As partially exciting as these preparations for someone else's party may seem, I can't help feeling a little peeved by the sudden influx of new faces to the hotel. That's no judgement on the hotel staff who have proved that their continued sense of priority is to their existing guests.

It's perhaps more that this year more than ever before I've found myself totally relaxed, totally immersed in the laid back atmosphere. So much so that when other people break into the bubble it takes a little getting used to. It will be very difficult to resist not booking ourselves in for another two weeks when we check out later on, but for now I'm really quite relieved we're on our way home.

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BBC Philharmonic at the Bridgewater

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 08:21:30 -0700

Post-concert drinkies
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

What better way to listen to Beethoven 9 than splayed out on a sun lounger on the edge of an infinity pool at a German run hotel overlooking the Aegean? Think blue skies, a gentle breeze and no queue at the poolside bar for post-concert drinkies.

I was listening to a recording of a live concert the BBC Philharmonic gave at the Bridgewater Hall on Friday 26 September, the before I came away on holiday.

Whilst I have been able to meet two of the BBC's criteria for it's content (finding and playing) I am, sadly, unable to meet the third - sharing it. The performance has missed it's seven day window on the iPlay-It-Again thingy. Consequently you have only my word to go on.

It was the first concert I'd listened to since the Proms, around about a month after I stood in the arena of the Royal Albert Hall listening to the Proms rendition. I was fighting to maintain my stamina in the last week of the season back then, conscious of some lower-back pain and irritated at the proximity of other concert goers. (It was late in the season.) I finished the performance that night hating Beethoven, the length of his final symphony and certain I'd never listen to any more Beethoven for as long as I could. I certainly wouldn't be listening to any on holiday.

Not so today. I sat on the toilet this morning browsing BBC Music Magazine and was reminded about the gig. I had a satellite recording of it on my laptop (it had taken quite a lot of fart-arsing around to get it from the Sky+ box to my laptop I might add). I'd listen to it this morning and see if I still felt the same way.

Inevitably, the combination of seering heat and the stunning view added something to Beethoven's monumental symphony. Not only that, the chance to listen to what sounded like an entirely different acoustic - Manchester's Bridgewater Hall - was a bit of a treat too.

The performance restored my faith in the 9th symphony. The third movement was especially glorious. It always takes me by surprise. I always think it should start slower than it invariably does. "Bloody hell, that's cracking on a pace. Should it really be that fast?" The answer is clearly yes. It isn't long before the third movement is underway that you're lulled into it's beauty.

It set me thinking about something I'd quite like to see made available from the iPlayer thingyamy.

How good would it be, I thought to myself as I sipped on my cool beer, if I could download radio content via iPlayer in the same way I can TV shows. That way, I wouldn't be tied to my laptop to listen to stuff. I could listen at leisure. I could listen in the bath, or on the tube or as I wandered aimlessly through Hyde Park or something...

In fact, if I could have a download manager installed on my portable media player then wouldn't it be possible to impose some digital rights management on a WMA file thereby preventing me from distributing it and thus keeping all those legal types from going to an early grave? That way I'd be able to to it when I wanted, write yet another tiresome blog about what I've just listened to and (if it was available for say .. 14 days?) then share it?

Four hours away from London and with only 48 hours left before I get home, I can't help wondering whether all these "brilliant" ideas I'm having about iPlayer (let's be honest - they've probably already been explored) may well have provoked some people at the Beeb to look a little more closely at the contract I have. Will I be finding a slim looking envelope on my doorstep when I push the front door open on my return?

No! Of course not. That would never happen.

Best prepare myself for the worst, just in case.

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Ephesus

nobody@vox.com(Thoroughly Good) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 08:31:56 -0700

Library of Celsus
Originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good

You know when you've been in a hotel a long time when you realise there's been a change of staff at the breakfast buffet. People haven't been fired - obviously - just that some people have got some time off and deservedly so.

I'd noticed the same lack of familiar faces amongst the clientele too. All the usual breakfast grazers were nowhere to be seen. They'd been replaced by new faces, all of them very white, one of whom sat at the table across from ours running his finger over a guide book for Turkey. He seemed intent on planning how he and his American wife would crack the real Turkey.

I'd reckoned on the same only the day before. I resisted the temptation. Let him find out the way I did. It's the only way, I thought. As you see, I may have been on holiday for a week but there's still a mean streak which needs to be worked on.

There had been cloud cover across the bay only the previous morning. Despite Simon reassuring me that our closer proximity to the equator meant that some of that necessary UV could still penetrate the clouds and thus tinge our skin, I reckoned the fast approaching thunder cloud made a day at the hotel a miserable affair. It was time to explore.

For some reason I plumped on Ephesus as the place we were going to visit. Ephesus was the oldest ancient site east of the Mediterranean. That meant old ruins. That meant sight-seeing. That meant a road trip.

The journey to the ancient ruins would take us no more than an hour - an hour and a half at a push. This calculation based on me measuring the distance on the map from our hotel to Ephesus as being no more than half a forefinger.

What I hadn't bothered to check was the scale on the map. If I had then I later wouldn't have been so inconsolably angry that our journey had taken two and a half hours. At that point there was at least another twenty-five kilometres to go.

We finally arrived at the ancient site at around 3.20pm, having set off to avoid the impending rain storm only to drive through one at the beginning of the journey and arrive 188 kilometres just in time to get drenched in another one. The site closed to the public at 5.30pm. We'd have a couple of hours there before we had to drive back. This little road trip was feeling like a bit of a disaster.

Ephesus wasn't quite what I was expecting it to be either. I'd seen the pictures in the guide book. It made it look like a scene from Ecce Romani. I imagined a very British kind of tourist attraction with gift shops, printed tour guides, turnstiles and a cafe run by a couple of old women.

Not so here. It may be an extremely important site, but such English details were lacking.

We paid 4 YTL to get into the car-park only to be offered a free trip to the top of the site (the ancient city is effectively a walk down a hill - best to start from the top, not the bottom) by a man who spoke very good English and seemed to have a fantastic line in leather goods he reckoned we absolutely couldn't do without. "First I take you to my leather shop and then I take you to the top of ancient city for free!" he said excitedly as he pulled the sliding door of his mini-bus wide open and ushered us inside.

We declined, taking the shiny yellow taxi to the top for 15 YTL. We paid a further 10 YTL each to get in, at which point we understood why it was the guide books advised visiting the site when the sun was obscured by the clouds. There was no shelter which in turn meant there was nowhere to hide from the rain.

Other visitors had taken the sensible precaution of bringing brollies and waterproof jackets. One foreign-looking couple who had found the only archway on the site to listen to their tape-recorded guide and wait for the rain to pass. Beside them was a brolly hanging from a hook in the wall. They appeared visibly unimpressed with British society as a whole when I ventured, "Is that brolly yours?" "Yes," was the couple's stern reply.

For all my apparent moaning about the day (the rain did eventually stop), there was something eerily moving about the entire place. The Greeks obviously knew how to lay out a city in a suitably grand style. There was detail in the carvings, solidity in the stone walkways and an undeniable sense of grandeur in the buildings implicit in the remains which marked out foundations and boundaries.

Looking down on the site felt a bit like looking at a partially completed cartoon. We saw the sketches of the buildings in front of us, leaving us the fill in the rest in our imagination. The more I looked, the more I wanted the site finished off. The more I wanted to wander around these amazing structures and live the glamorous life of togas and scrolls and sandals I reckoned it was back then.

At the same time it felt odd to be wandering aimlessly over what at times felt like a forgotten town. People lived and worked and studied in these buildings how ever many hundreds of years ago. The idea the place had ceased to be vibrant and successful when the nearby port finally silted up, made what was left almost like a tomb.

Stunning to look at, it did kind of feel as though we should have been marvelling from afar rather than clambering all over it.

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