June 2005 Archives
Back in town after five great days and three amazing nights in Dublin. Great music, great people and a bloody great tan are my spoils. I've never been keen on seeing U2 in Ireland, it's always been a little disappointing (everybody in audience drunk, band too nervous to perform properly), but for once they brought it home and the crowd wasn't legless. In fact, they were totally into it, from the back to the front to the highest seats in the stadium. Maybe in this new Ireland, U2 finally have found the audience they deserve.
Warning: sweeping generalisations ahead.
Paris looms, but first we leave for Dublin in the morning. How many times have I been? At least once, often twice and sometimes three times every year over the last twenty years. I only skipped 3 years out of 20. So let's say that evens out to forty trips to Ireland ranging from two days to a month. To say I know the place well is probably an understatement. I'm an expert, me.
The biggest difference between Paris an Dublin is... the men. My main reason for loathing Paris is its agressive, lip clacking, tongue smacking, disgusting male population. I know some women get a kick out of all the attention, but I really don't. The fact that I was sexually assaulted by a shop manager in the city once doesn't help. That wouldn't happen now in Dublin, it wouldn't. Irish men are funny, well mannered and never blatant. Their flirting is innocent and their intentions mostly good. (Because the wife wouldn't like it at all, at all, if they transgressed.) They won't leer at you in the street. Of course they're also extremely unreliable. And often very, very drunk.
Talking about drunk Irishmen... have you ever been to a stadium full of 'em? Think of me when I'm at Croke Park this Friday, Saturday and Monday.
I don't want to make a big deal out of it (I'm obsessive about things, but would hate to become obsessive about weight.), but since I've been diagnosed with diabetes I've stepped up the eating pattern I had been trying to adjust to since earlier this year. I suppose what I am doing comes closest to the NoSDiet, which is more like a simple guideline: 'No Snacks, No Sweets, No Seconds'. I'm not doing the second part of the NoSDiet: 'except on days that start with an 's'. That would probably make it more difficult to break my habits, since it's on the weekends that I usually indulged. I cut down a lot on butter, eat more fruit, drink mostly water. That kind of thing.
Anyway, I've lost 5 kilos going on 6 since March without too much trouble. I need to lose at least 20 more to become 'normal', whatever that is (my BMI was 35.8, now is 33.7 and should be 24.9).
I have to say, going to a lot of gigs has helped. See U2, lose weight. How's that for a slogan?
Last night it took me about four hours to book a hotel in Paris near the Stade de France where U2 will be playing in July. It was incredibly frustrating to try to find out the simplest things about a city when you're not too familiar with it. Hotel websites do not mention whether they are easily accessible on foot, or whether they're tucked away among motorways and only accessible by car, as many budget hotels can be.
From the maps I found online it was impossible to see whether the Stade de France is located outside of the city, or in an urban area and whether I would be able to walk from the hotels around it and back. Hotels quite obviously on its doorstep were fully booked.
I could not find a map of Paris that included the Stade de France, since it´s in Saint Denis. I found maps of Saint Denis, but could not see how far it is from Paris city centre. The Stade de France website only has a map of itself and its surrounding parking lots.
In the end I gave up and booked a room near Gare du Nord. I hope trains / metro (which I hate in Paris, completely confusing, unlike the London Underground) will get me where I want and back without too much trouble.
Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe Paris?
English music journalist Gavin Martin interviewed me briefly a few weeks back and his article 'Franz Ferdinand: access all areas' appeared in The Independent yesterday. What I say in the article seems different from what I said on the phone. But that's always the case. I used to get a kick out of the whole 'look mum, I'm on the radio' (I did one for Radio Rijnmond two weeks ago) or 'I'm in the papers, me', but I've come to dislike it quite a bit.
Performing in Amsterdam for the first time in ten years, Maria McKee seemed surprised (though you never know with her) so many had come out to see her.
Personally, I had expected a bigger crowd. The Paradiso staff had made their main room more intimate, putting tables and large plants down and moving the soundstage up a good way towards the stage.
She played all my favourites. Even the oldies: Breathe, Dixie Storms, Shelter, Wheels... fabulous to hear them all again, as well as tracks off her new album 'Peddlin' Dreams'. Unpredictable and slightly mad (she says) as ever. Another one of those 'criminally' underestimated artists I like so much.
Setlist: You Are The Light, I Can't Make It Alone, Am I The Only One, Peddlin' Dreams, High Dive, Wheels, The Horse Life, Shelter, Turn Away, Sullen Soul, Worry Birds, If Love Is A Red Dress, Dixie Storms, Barstool Blues, People in the Way, In Your Constellation, Everyone's Got A Story, Breathe, Life Is Sweet.
One down, nine to go. U2 played it safe in Brussels and opened the European leg of their Vertigo tour with a solid, blockbuster set that left no room for experimentation. 'Subtle' wasn't the word.
I took pictures with my Ixus 400. I think I squeezed the most out of it, but in these circumstances, a pocket camera with a bigger/better lens would really come in handy. Next up: Gelsenkirchen.
12 June 2005 00:56 | six comments
U2 Euro Vertigo Tour Madness 2005 is about to start. I will leave for Brussels in the morning, make a brief stop back in Amsterdam on Saturday and then off to Gelsenkirchen (Germany) on Sunday. 'Try not to enjoy yourself and not to treat it all as 'work', a friend said earlier today. I must confess that what I am feeling right now has more in common with a sense of tradition and duty and less with excitement or passion. But when the lights go down and The Edge hits us with whatever he's planning to do with that new 'holosonic' stuff he's apparently trying out this tour, the adrenaline will probably start kicking in. Updates at u2log.com.
Vicky Pollard just commented on a 2001 entry about Jamie Oliver:
1. annonimous says:
hi Jamie me and my friends have nothing against you but we HATE THE NEW SCHOOL DINNERS!!!!!!!! We understand you think its healthy but you could give us a bit more nicer food i mean its our parents who should make us eat healthily not you! We also think that the so called “good” food is WAY TOOO EXSPENSIVE and even when we get our burgers they are soo plain please change the price and qaulity of food please we are begging you!
signed annonimous
p.s the cost of salad in our school 99p!
Yeah, Jamie, go on, be a bit more nicer to the chirrun.
My friend's father (74) dad had a heart attack on wednesday. When they got him to the hospital, he was put on a trolley in a&e for three hours. When he was finally given a bed, he had another heart attack. He's in intensive care now and stable at the moment. He had a triple bypass a couple of years ago - when he had his first (three, I think) heart attacks.
I'd get upset about the three hours waiting on a trolley if I weren't pre-occupied hoping for a speedy recovery.
...downloading The Sopranos, Six Feet Under and The 4400. Just a reminder for other telly addicts out there that these series are about to start. These are the final series of SFU and The Sopranos, though the latter may get another extension if HBO throw enough cash at the show's creator, David Chase.
Any other good series starting up?
Some good stuff I snagged last week: three Fast show specials, 'Suit you sir - The Inside Leg of the Fast Show', 'You ain't seen these, right?' (40-minute compilation of previously unseen sketches. Nice.) and 'Ted and Ralph' (a Christmas 98 special feature). UKNova.com is a fab torrent-site, since it specialises in British TV shows and members dig up, encode and share golden oldies from their video collection, like the entire first season of Spitting Image. I'm hoping someone will upload some Not the Nine O'Clock News episodes.
My G.P.'s practice is run by two part time doctors. In my five years with them, I've only ever met Doctor #1 . I assumed the other one had another office -- I never really thought about it much. Turns out they work on fixed days and for some reason I'd never been on a Friday or Wednesday before, when Doctor #2 is on duty. The doctors are two very different types of people. Doctor #1 is a calm, somewhat serious man who quite recently suffered from burn out. I like him a lot, because he doesn't talk down to you and recognises the 'smarter' patient. Doctor #2, is a woman of the chirpy sort. Big smile, seems to be in a rush. This is how they both dealt with me, their patient:
Me: 'So, yeah, hypothyroidism... what now?'
Doctor #2: 'Really, many people have it and live normal lives. We'll give you medication and you'll be right as rain.'
Me: 'And, um, what are the consequences of hypothyroidism?'
Doctor #1: 'You die.'
Shirley Manson, like Kylie Minogue, is likeable and exciting to watch. I don't care a whole lot for Garbage as a band (not since their first album, anyway), but their leading lady is just riveting.
A sign outside the venue said: 'No flash. No professional gear.' Just before the start of the show, a security guard noticed me taking my camera out of my bag.
s.g.: 'We don't allow lenses on cameras.'
me: 'But all cameras have lenses.'
s.g.: 'Uhm, you can't use professional gear.'
me: 'It's a 300d, it's not a professional camera.'
s.g.: 'OK. But don't be surprised if we take your roll of film later on.'
me: 'There's no film in this camera.'
s.g.: (sigh) 'Well, whatever's in it.'
I stayed out of view of the guards for most of the show right up until the end when some people in front of me left. It gave me the opportunity to take some good close ups when Shirley played our side of the stage. Just when I knew I'd got 'the' shot (the one above), a big bald security guard told me to cut it out, using the international cut throat sign. I put my camera away then and he didn't take my memory card. A guy in front of me filmed the entire show with a tiny digicam.