Stuff that pops into my head. Innit.

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

Stirling and its Uni

As I mentioned a while back, my youngest daughter has just started university down in sunny Stirling- home of Braveheart himself, William Wallace- and as I've finally summoned up the inclination to get the photos onto the PC I thought I'd share them with you guys.
And yes, everything in Stirling is named after Mr. Wallace, no matter how tenuous the link.

This prison style structure is one of the halls of residence

The NSA, which is on campus

A campus complete with a rather nice lake

This is Gabi's actual hall, she's about halfway along on the top floor.

This is the Wallace monument, and yes, it looks a bit like a cock.


Thursday, 15 September 2011

Bush - The Sea of Memories

First up, an apology. I haven't posted for a fortnight or so because -no, not ebola this time- we've been busy getting our youngest daughter to university and dealing with the fallout of all that entails. I shall try to get back to some sort of regular posting schedule from now on. Thanks for listening. Reading? Whatever, thanks anyway.

And so onto Bush. Remember them? A sort of British version of Nirvana -not as good obviously, although they were far superior to Silverchair -the Australian version, or Nirvana in Pyjamas as I like to call them- they were pretty good and despite being largely overlooked in their homeland, they were quite popular in the US and achieved a fair bit of commercial, if not critical success.
Until a couple of days ago, Bush hadn't released a new album in 10 years -and that was the not very good Golden State.
10 years is a long time, people and tastes change and given that my last memories of Bush were on the aforementioned Golden State, as I started listening to this I was more than a little anxious.

"Will I like this?"
"What if it's poo?"
"Did I ever like Bush?"

Initially at least, it seemed as though my fears were unfounded, as the first 3 songs are good. Very good. Huzzah! Bush are back and just as good as they were on Razorblade Suitcase.

Not by a long shot. After the excellent opening tracks we descend into radio friendly AOR combined with the sort of filler tracks seen on a hundred average rock albums. Did they get bored after the opening of this album or what? Did Gwen come down into the basement and tell Gavin that playtime's over and his friends have to go home now? It certainly seems that way.
A major disappointment.

Bush, yesterday

Thursday, 1 September 2011

Jim White Ruined my Birthday. Again.

Yesterday was my birthday -no, I'm not telling you how old I am- it also happens to be the football (soccer for you, my american cousins) transfer deadline day. And every year on August 31st, Jim White ruins my birthday.
I know what you're thinking -"Ok Fizz, who the fuck is Jim White?" and it's a fair enough question if A) you don't like football, or B) you don't live in the UK.
Jim White is Sky TV's equivalent of the transfer deadline day's Grim Reaper, Megatron and Hannibal Lecter all rolled into one. If you're an Evertonian, that is.
This year, big Jim gleefully told me that we'd just sold arguably our best player to Arsenal. Thanks Jim. Fucker. Stop smiling.
In between shots of Peter Crouch's people carrier, Yakubu smiling like he'd just been given the keys to Pizza Hut and strangely large mobs of youths behind reporters in car parks, it came to pass that Everton had sold 3 players and bought none -bar a couple of "interesting" loan deals, one an argentinian striker who appears to be more Martin Palermo than Leo Messi, and a famously mad dutchman. Brilliant.
Jim white ruined my birthday. Again.

Jim White yesterday, shortly after ruining my birthday.