Thatcher Infirm(ary)

I was bemused by this news story. An infirmary in London has been named after our former-love-her-or-hate-her, Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher.

It was opened by Prince Charles. It must have been like a collection of all the people I most admire. [insert smilie contraption here /Sarcastic Mode]

Now, I wonder if the Thatcherism ideals will rub off on the health care? Will Welsh patients get told the ward is closed down for cost cutting measures? Will milk be banned? Perhaps anyone ill turning up will be told to pull their socks up, and that it's their own fault they are ill....

BBC news story, complete with delicious video footage.

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Rufus Wainwright and the Es Muss Sein

Last week I saw Rufus Wainwright on his Songs for Lulu tour, the new album released last month, just a few weeks after the sad death of his mother Anna McGarrigle of cancer, in January. The album itself is the most stripped bare of Rufus' works - it is simply Rufus at his piano. And yet the whole record is arguably his most complicated, intricate and emotionally textured of anything he has ever produced before. The performance was exquisite. Criticised by some as being pretentious, Rufus played the entire album in full, clapping in between songs forbidden. The usual Rufus banter was absent. No little quips of welcomes. Or face pulling. Just Rufus, his piano, and the heart-wrenching musical tale of losing his mother. Typically, the audience illustrated the amazing wide spectrum of fan-base Rufus attracts. From grannies to teens, to trendies to punks, from men wearing skirts to straight-laced middle-aged tweeds; it matters not, and everyone has a wonderful time. If solemn on this oc...

A Day in the Life of Cardiff

The light is bright, the essence is full of promise, if but a slightly seedy one. On the busy train into Cardiff, two white-haired old ladies sit on the battered seats, their Dot Cotton house coats visible underneath their rain-macs. Tightly pursed lips, arms folded cross their robust darlek-shaped bodies, clutching their handbags as if their lives depended on it. There is a slight smell of odor de cooking-oil. "No discipline" utters one critically to the other, whilst staring directly ahead with a glare of a Terminator. "Dave says he needs to go back to the doctors for his pills". Replies the other, frowning. "They don't listen." "That'll be another bus trip." "We were brought up to listen." "John Lewis is nice." The mouths fasten shut and the two masses of old cotton-wooled hair bob up and down in complete un-agreement with each other. The train chugs along, a DJ tracked monotonous soundtrack. The light is yellow and...

Confirmed - I Like Trash

The other day, I took a photograph. On reflection of it, I have come to the conclusion that I am a little odd. Well, I've known that for a while, but was in denial. (And people who know me will wonder why it's taken me this long to realise...) When out and about, I often seem to find things that amuse me. These could be odd objects left behind or abandoned, silly graffiti that just makes me laugh, or just something bizarre and random. I like to photograph them. I was out walking and spotted this discarded shopping list...as soon as I saw it, I realised there was something about it that really tickled me. I wasn't exactly sure why, but I just knew it did. So I had to photograph it, even just on my camera phone, to preserve it's quirkiness before it disappeared off into the wind, or disintegrated by rain and other elements, never to be seen by human eyes again. The idea of that almost upsets me. Which is why I realise I am rather odd. What is it about an unwanted shopping...

Whimsical Musings of a Loon

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