Goodbye

cruel

world!!

Good Bye To The Chris Moyles Show

Last Friday (the 14th of September 2012) marked the end of a particularly prevalent chapter in British radio as Chris Moyles presented his final edition of the breakfast show on Radio 1. Now, as is obligatory when mentioning Chris Moyles, I have to acknowledge that not everyone is a fan of the man but, in my opinion, it is still an event worth noting.

I, as many others, have practically grown up listening to Chris Moyles and was deeply deeply disappointed by the news that the show was coming to an end. So I have decided to take this opportunity to reflect on the show and share some of my own memories. So let’s do that then…

First Encounters.

The year was approximately 1998, when I was at the tender age of 14, when I first came across Radio 1’s afternoon host in the drive-time slot. Radio 1 was a different place then; Britpop was transitioning back into mainstream pop, dance music was claiming its first footholds at the fringes of the station and the godfather John Peel was playing out obscure bands with peculiar names. I used to switch on the radio after finishing school to catch the end of the Mark and Lard show (whooooooooooooooooo? [would you beleive I couldn’t find a single clip of the long who to link to. Oh well, look at this instead]) – an unusual blend of sketches and comedy features all but absent from Radio 1’s current incarnation.

Following this came the familiar refrain from George Thorogood’s “Bad To The Bone” announcing the arrival of “the saviour of Radio 1”– Chris Moyles. The show consisted of (as it had until the end) chatter, daft features and games, competitions (remember them?), parody songs and on-air disagreements and disputes. This last one, and an overall irreverent attitude, is probably what branded Moyles (wrongly, in my opinion) as a shock-jock.

I have to admit that this aspect is probably what started me off listening in the first place – in particular live accusations of incompetence levelled at the producer Will “shut up Will, you stupid grey-haired old man” Kinder (even funnier in hindsight since Kinder is now a senior producer at Radio 1).

The Dawn of Controversy.

Adding to this perception was Moyles’ sometimes flippant attitude toward members of the public calling into the show, most notably during a much loved competition called Viaduct (based on a Two Ronnies sketch). Up to this point DJ’s had a somewhat sycophantic manner when conversing with members of the public – even when they were being stupid, dull or downright aggravating. Chris wouldn’t do this, often talking straight, arguing with callers and sometimes even cutting off the ‘divvies’. This led to the show fielding questions and accusations of unnecessary (and sometimes accidental) meanness (which likely helped shape opinions in the popular media to this day). However, most of the callers were in on the gag and would likely have come away disappointed had Moyles not insulted them.

This attitude was often extended to celebrity guests which would in turn fuel further controversy. The one from this era that sticks out in my mind was an interview with Will Young who had recently come out. For all Chris Moyles supposed bullishness and immaturity he displayed quite a liberal and mature attitude to it – discussing it openly with humour and good natured jibes along the lines of “If you are a homosexual man, why do you sing heterosexual love songs?” (to which the answer was “because they are popular”). This in-sighted bewildering accusations of homophobia from some Will Young fans (but not Will Young himself) and the press (even more bewildering in retrospect, when you look at his close friendship with producer Aled, an openly gay man). Moyles met the controversy head-on and, as would become one of the touchstones of the show, on the air with words to the effect of “what’s the big deal? All it means is that Will might look at another man’s bum and think ‘hmm that’s alright’ – that’s all thier is to it.” This was probably when my opinion of Chris Moyles changed from just a funny loud-mouth to someone who had a bit more about him.

A Touch of Comedy.

At this point, it is frankly criminal that I have not yet mentioned ‘Comedy’ Dave Vitty – major contributor and constant partner in crime of the show. I have often thought that had their not been a Comedy Dave then there would be no Chris Moyles – and I stand by that. The history of the Chris Moyles Show could be condensed as a prolonged conversation between Dave and Chris with a revolving door of additional contributors (various producers, newsreaders and recurring guests etc.) with the aim of making each other laugh and entertaining the nation.

Dave’s contributions came mainly in the form of convoluted games and features built around naff puns and hilarious parody songs. These parody songs are the final pieces of the puzzle that turned me into a regular listener and never failed to get tongues wagging on the playground the next day. Particular favourites include “Stanta”, built around the song “Stan” and produced in response to Eminem’s 2000 campaign on the Christmas chart (beaten by Bob the Builder’s “Can We Fix it?”), and “Addicted To Plaice” based on “Addicted to Bass” by Puretone which featured on the 2009 Parody Album.

Not All Fun and Games.

There was, of course, a more serious side to this and, like I said, a lot of us grew up with Chris Moyles as our soundtrack. This inevitably meant there were some bitter times to go along with the sweet.

The best example of this can be summed up in one distinct date – Tuesday 11th of September 2001. I remember distinctly how I discovered the news of what had happened. I was sitting on a wall waiting to be picked up from school (sixth form technically at this point), I switched on my walkman and heard Chris say “…and then the plane hit the tower.” and then a couple of songs played. I had thought I had just caught the end of some bizarre joke or anecdote (for anyone who is confused, because of the time difference, the attack occurred in the afternoon in the UK). Then the songs finished and the full explanation came. I sat there stunned. I even think one of my friends tried to talk to me but I just blanked him. I remember wanting to run up to him and shout “Don’t you know what’s just happened?” but I wouldn’t have found the words.

Then my lift arrived and, for reasons I won’t go into here, I started an hour and half drive home and the events unfolded. On the one hand I was spared the carousel of images that most people site as their most indelible memory of that day. On the other hand, I only had imagination to fill in the blanks until I got home.

From that moment, Radio 1 stopped doing links (which, ironically, had become universally longer since Moyles’ rise at the station) and simply played music. The station, along with the country and the rest of the world, went into a kind of torpid shock – no one had anything to say. This continued for the rest of the week.

Then, on the 15th of September (my 17th birthday) it came to the last ever Chris Moyles Saturday Morning Show. The team had already planned for the show to be a big finale extravaganza and decided – with a disclaimer – to execute the show as planned. And so the station, and the nation, started on the road to recovery and normality. Once again Chris had had a hand in the tempo of the entire station.

Move To The Morning.

In January 2004, the show moved to the flagship breakfast show. Me being a night-owl, I didn’t follow them over initially. So I missed that famous epic jingle that started his first show (which would come back to haunt him later). Eventually though, I discovered the Podcast (Free Download) and eventually crept back into the swing of things.

Actually, the rise of technology though-out the run of the show is quite interesting in it’s own right. In the beginning the fax machine was still prevalent and the only real way, other than the phone, to contact the show. Then came the website (BBC On-line) and eventually the listen again feature. By 2005 came the podcast – one of the most popular in the country and given completely free (hence the “name change” to Free Download). Then came social media like Facebook and Twitter which spread the show into other countries including a brief stint on Sirius Satellite Radio which brought in a load of American and Canadian fans (as well as fans from other countries who could listen on-line).

The format didn’t change much (well, if it ain’t broke…) but new features were added. Favourites include “Car-park Catchphrase” with Roy Walker, “Rob DJ’s Monday Night Pub Quiz” (held on Tuesday morning), “One Word Weather with Nelson Mandela” (actually Dominic Byrne doing an impression – while we are on caricatures there was also Dom’s “Fake Adele” and Chris’ “Clumsy Westwood”), “Where Am I?” with Tim Westwood (“I’m on the moon!”), “Aled with a megaphone” (not actually a feature – just something that kept happening) and Dom’s cringey interviews with A-list celebs.

Controversy at Dawn.

As ever, it was not always plain sailing and Moyles continued to act as a lightening rod for controversy, particularly with the tabloid press. Firstly was a policy with special guests which said that, if the celebrity missed their call time without good reason, Chris would refuse to interview them (and plug their book, song, TV programme, film etc.). Most notably this happened to media-whore Katy Price (aka Jordan) who thought it a good idea to use the rest of the day’s junkets to slag the show off, seemingly forgetting that Chris had access to a whole morning show and a reputation for meeting criticism head on. The next day he proceeded to tear her version of events to pieces and undermine what little credibility she may have had left.

Another example was when The Sun printed an entire article claiming that he had been fired. The article was a transparent bid for readership filled with flimsy tabloid phrases such as “sources say…” and “according to an unnamed insider…” which, as it turned out, was entirely made-up. Chris, as ever, addressed it on the air, reassuring fans that “we ain’t going nowhere” and once again turning the story in to the joke that it was.

One final example is probably the most well known. It involves Chris Moyles not getting paid by the BBC and, characteristically, bringing it up on the air. With the recession pinching and envious anger directed towards high earners (this was approximately the same time that various MP and banker scandals were hitting the fan) running high, many dissenters viewed this “rant” as rich-boy whining. Many pointed at Moyles’ salary as a reason that Chris had no right to complain about the situation, seemingly missing the point that 0% of what ever figure you care to imagine still adds up to £0.00. Essentially he was working for nothing. Now, who among us would – or indeed could – work for free? Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought it up on the radio but, if this post proves nothing else, that was never his style. Of course he was going to blow the whistle on it.

For Charidy Mate.

Another aspect of the Chris Moyles Show is the amount of charity work and fund raising they managed – particularly with Comic Relief. There have been many examples of this over the years – from the “Red Nose Road Show” to Chapper’s & Dave’s attempt to do a lap at every premiership football ground, collecting merchandise along the way for auction.

The most memorable was when Chris accepted the challenge to climb Kilimanjaro. Even though there were a score of other celebs on the trek, Moyles was the only one that people felt would not be able to hack it. I’m sure there were a lot of disappointed people when it was announced that every single one of them, Chris included, made the top and that Radio 1 had in fact raised more than any of the other contributors.

Probably the most ambitious challenge was Chris and Dave’s attempt to present “The Longest Show Ever.” Lasting close to three days, I ended up watching (for it was televised) pretty much all of it – becoming addicted to seeing just how far they could get. The format involved all the other DJ’s coming in for their regular slots – only with Chris and Dave joining in with their various regular features. The feat was made all the more impressive by the fact that Chris did most of the whole thing standing. [Actually, its probably for the best that Chris left – because I can’t think of a way that they could have topped this.]

This was the closest we ever came to my personal dream show – “Midnight Moyles”. The idea – not that I think Radio 1 would ever have gone for this – is that The Chris Moyles Show (as it is/was, without much alteration) is scheduled at midnight so that all those “not-safe-for-radio” jokes and anecdotes could finally be told.

So Why Is it Ending?

Well, that’s the big question. According to Ben Cooper, Radio 1 controller, a major component was concerns that the average age of listeners was too high. Apparently the target age group is between 15 and 29 (I’ve just turned 28) and the average age is currently 32 (which is hardly past it). In order to artificially drive this demographic down, Cooper seems content to simply cull anyone above the target age (yeah, good luck with your listening figures on that one, Ben).

There are problems with this strategy. The first being the assumption that younger people will only listen to people of their own age (err… John Peel anyone?). The second being that, anyone younger than myself, grew up with many options for entertainment. As I grew up my options were 1) watch the TV or 2) put on the radio. Today, kids can go on-line, play games on phones or consoles, listen/watch again, text, tweet, facebook, blog (ha!), watch YouTube…. well you get the point. I’m not slagging off any of the above, I think it is brilliant that people now have the opportunity to customise their choice of entertainment to meet their specific tastes. My point is that today “listen to the radio” is but one of many possible options and “listen to Radio 1” is but one choice from the thousands of other radio stations, particularly since the rise of digital radio.

This has been in the air for a while now however, I would say at least since the time that Jo Whiley left the station and was replaced by Fearne Cotton. Jo, inventor of the Live Lounge (and also “Tenuous Link” from which “Tedious Link” was derived), represented a link in a chain that kept new music flowing through the station. How it used to work was Zane Lowe would “borrow” tunes from the specialist DJ’s that occupy the late night shows. Whiley would “borrow” tracks from Zane and play them out on her music-heavy mid-morning show and from there, if the song was good enough, it would find its way onto the more mainstream shows. After she left, this continuity disintegrated and the specialist DJ’s drifted further away from the rest of the station into their own little bubble. As for her replacement, well….

A Poor Replacement.

Nick Grimshaw followed by Fearne Cotton… well there’s six hours of unlistenable radio right there. Both inexplicably show up on every-bloody-thing and talk absolute rubbish. I have never liked either one of them and I think trying to listen to their hand-overs might actually cause grievous harm. I may never wake up again!

Radio 1 is not a complete wash out just yet – Sara Cox is still there (for now) and the afternoon still gives us the Scott Mills/Greg James tag team which is worth listening to. Zane Lowe is soldiering on four nights a week and Huw Stevens is there at the weekends.

Perhaps, I shouldn’t complain. Perhaps, I’m just bitter that the things I loved are one by one giving over to the new (represented, evidently, by the factious and the gossipy bullshit). Perhaps, this is how it has always been – but that doesn’t mean I have to like it!

So Where Do I Go Now?

Forgetting for the moment that I still, technically, fall into Radio 1’s holy grail demographic (but no, fuck you Ben Cooper, if you are too stupid to realise that it is just as easy to re-brand the station as a family or flagship station [similar to BBC One] than to chase the fleeting and fickle “youth” market, then you don’t deserve my listenership) The question still remains – what am I going to listen to now? And more importantly, what am I going to set my alarm to when I have to get up in the morning?

Here are my main options:

• Radio 2 – I’m not ready for Radio 2! Your dad listens to Radio 2. Now I have nothing against older music (in fact I probably listen to more of it than newer stuff) but I still want to know what’s going on today. [I know Radio 2 plays new music – but the station has a different flavour that I am not used to]
• 1 Xtra – No thanks. I’m NOT an “urban youf” and I don’t care to listen to that kind of music exclusivity.  Besides, I tried listening to 1 [E]xtra before when they did a cross-over with Radio 1 and I almost tore the plug off my radio.
• Commercial Radio – I hate commercial radio! The quality is piss-poor, the presenters are interchangeable and indistinct, they only seem to have about twelve songs (mostly 80’s crap) and the adverts, repeated ad-nauseum, can drive you mad. [Too many places where I have worked have left commercial radio on – making a shit job even worse.]
• Radio 3 & 4 – Ha! I put that in as a joke. We all know those stations are named after the amount of people who actually listen to them.
• 6 Music – A strong possibility with only one drawback. As a digital only station my humble little clock radio can’t pick it up so it would be useless as an alarm call.

So go on Ben, what am I to listen to now? Which station are us 28-35’s supposed to listen to now, since you’ve decided you don’t want us? Is there a radio 1.5? I think not. Are Radio 2 about to fire Ken Bruce or Jules Holland to accommodate us? Unlikely. Did you think this plan through at all and conceive that the reason you have so many listeners of the “wrong” age bracket is because A) they like it how it is and B) we have nowhere else to go? Doesn’t look like it. You, sir, are an idiot and most likely to be remembered as the controller who buried Radio 1 once and for all.

The Saviour Is Gone!

And so, back to what this post is actually about – not ranting about imbecilic BBC management (which, incidentally, was one of Moyles’ favourite targets) – but bidding farewell to The Chris Moyles Show.

It sure was a sad day listening to the final broadcast (well the last couple of weeks worth really) but you may have noticed something a little peculiar in these shows. The keenest amongst you (and, despite how we are portrayed in the popular press, Chris Moyles Show fans have learnt to be astute and read between the lines.) can’t have failed to notice it.

You may recall the particular wording that this was to be “the last ever Chris Moyles Breakfast Show” and that, when pressed by various guests as to his plans for the future, Chris only gave a brief account of what he was doing in the immediate future (a bit part in “Jesus Christ Superstar” and a new album). This either suggests that he hasn’t yet decided what he is doing next or he has and is trying to keep it under wraps (in which case, it’s a miracle that Dave didn’t blurt it out). Obviously, I’m just speculating but, I wouldn’t be surprised if Moyles returns in some way, shape or form (my bet would be on the weekend but my wish would be “mid-night Moyles”, obviously)

In either case, it was definitively the last Breakfast Show – drawing to a close eight and a half years of dedicated hard work and effortless professionalism. So it is only fair to say – Thank You.

Thanks for helping my get up in the morning, something I find very difficult and positively daunting now I haven’t got you to make me smile.

Thanks for all the games and the jokes, the interviews and the controversies.

Thanks for telling us how it is and never shying away from giving us the full scoop even when it might seem niche or geeky or personal or uncomfortable.

Thanks for getting me through the hard times (for their have been many) and for highlighting the good (sitting in the sun with the radio on will never be the same again).

Thanks “Comedy” Dave Vitty. Thanks Dominic “Don’t Call Me Baldy” Byrne. Thanks Juliette Ferrington. Thanks Carrie “Camilla Ice” Davis. Thanks Tina “We Didn’t Forget You” Daheley. Thanks Rachel “Time For The News” Jones. Thanks “BB” Aled Haydn Jones. Thanks Will Kinder “You Stupid Grey-Haired Old Man”. Thanks Sam Moy. Thanks Freya Last. Thanks Jocelin Stainer. Thanks, to a lesser extent, Matt Fincham. Thanks Pippa Taylor-Hackett. Thanks Paul Turner. And, of course, Thanks Chris “The Saviour of Radio 1” Moyles.

Thank You & Good Bye.

[And also, thank you to the people behind Chrismoyles.net who thought to save up all those clips and stuff. Now we all have some stuff to pick through if we get a Moyles craving.]

Drawing the Obvious Parallel

So… here we are again – another opening ceremony and another self-inflicted obligation to write about it. Only it’s gone 1 am at time of writing, so I intend to keep this brief.

The Paralympic (which, apparently, is not in the spell-check for some reason – even though “Olympic” is… sort it out) Games represents a reprieve for those of us who were sad to see the 2012 Olympiad pass into memory. It is, however, not entirely fair to treat the Paralympics as just a post script for the games proper – so I’ll try not to compare it too closely to that other opening ceremony.

Science and Shakespeare

So we open with Steven Hawking, a treat for all us in the we-love-science fan club, quoting from A Brief History of Time. An inspired choice since he ticks off two major boxes straight off the bat. A) he is a great British icon and B) he is possibly the most recognisable disabled person on the planet (and also because it is not his disability but what he can do that people are interested in). This kicked off a ‘big bang’ which is always a good way of starting things off.

This led into the main narrative – which featured Sir Ian McKellen guiding our protagonist Miranda through the subsequent show. I’m am reliably informed that this is influenced by The Tempest (what, again?) – but since I fall into that strange part of the Venn diagram which loves literature but not Shakespeare, I can’t really help you in terms of in which way it was influenced or by how much.

History and Tradition.

The narrative paused at this point to make way for the parade of nations – which overran quite heavily and knocked the air out of proceedings somewhat. This was followed (eventually) by speeches from the now familiar Sebastian Coe – buoyed by fresh confidence after the success of  a couple weeks ago – and president of the International Paralympic Committee Sir Philip Craven – who I was surprised to learn is a fellow countryman (from Bolton to be specific). He gave a brief history of the Paralympic [not ‘Paralytic’ – stupid spell-check] movement including a name-check for Ludwig Guttmann (forefather of the Paralympics) and his Stoke Mandeville event of 1948 (which gives it’s name to one of the mascots)

Then the Paralympic flag (pictured above) entered the stadium to the sounds of Thaxted from Jupiter, which is in turn from The Planets by Gustav Holst [why is classical music so bloody complicated?] – a tune that I know better as The World in Union (the theme of the rugby union world cup – and a tune that I love and will shamelessly throw a link at given half an opportunity). After its raising – the oaths were recited which, according to the commentators, was the first time this has happened. This struck me as odd since the oaths are a significant part of the Olympics and hopefully this generates a new tradition for the future.

Gravity Defied and Defined.

Okay, back to the narrative. McKellen continues to guide our girl Miranda through the spectacle of human endeavour – this time pointing out the miracles of literature.  This was represented by a flock of flying books and an upturned umbrella/sailing ship (there was a lot of umbrellas throughout – I hope that doesn’t turn out to be prophetic [for international readers, this time of year is usually dogged by soggy weather but don’t worry it only lasts until about May]). This culminated in a half-dozen athletes running, swimming and wheeling their way into the centre of the stadium – only suspended on wires above the stadium.

Then came another celebration of science – in particular Isaac Newton who invented gravity (oh, that’s just annoyed the we-love-science fan club – stop trying to put your boot through your monitor, you can’t afford to buy a new one.) No, Isaac Newton discovered and codified the laws of gravity from which modern physics is built. Apparently, each person in the stadium had been given an apple which, on a given cue, they all took a bite out of resulting in a ‘crunch heard around the world.’ (which reminded me of that one Bill Bailey sketch from Part Troll)

This whole thing gave me pause to wonder – what is it about this rainy little island that seems to bring out the scientist in us? Aside from Hawking and Newton we have produced more than our fair share of them over the years.  To name a few: Charles Darwin (who you can find on the back of the £10 note – which will surprise [and possibly shock] 40% of Americans), there is Michael Faraday, James Watt (pictured on the £50 note with Matthew Boulton), William Thomson, Alan Turing, Richard Dawkins and Patrick Moore [and a surprising number of them are Scottish]. I’m not saying that we have cornered the market or anything – but it’s still dam impressive.

Reclamation and Reinstatement.

Then came a musical segment (there was music scattered throughout but I can’t remember what all of it was) and a rendition of Spasticus Autisticus (originally by Ian Dury). I was surprised as hell that this song was included. For as long as I can remember the words ‘spastic’ and ‘spaz’ have been used as a term of abuse – with most people preferring not to use it due to those implications (in fact even the charity formally known as The Spastic Society changed its name to Scope in order to escape the titters of immature persons using it) The closest parallel I can think of is the word ‘fag’ in that, generally it is offensive but those who fall under its definition are ‘allowed’ to use it (but most don’t). On the other hand, I’m all for the reclamation of words and, having read a little about the songs history [click the link], I can see why it was chosen.

At some point during this song a massive statue of Alison Lapper, one of Britain’s most iconic disabled people, appeared on stage. It was a replica of the innovatively titled Alison Lapper Pregnant by Marc Quinn which depicts artist Alison Lapper while she was pregnant (great sculpture Mr Quinn – but you couldn’t think of a better name for it?). Let’s start the campaign here and now – Let’s put it back on the forth plinth (in Trafalgar Square) – it’s empty anyways and I kinda like it.

Light That Bad Boy Up (Again).

I’m sure there is something missing… what is it? Oh yeah – the torch. It fell to former Marine Joe Townsend to bring it into the stadium. Unfortunately, no one told him he could use the front door so he took a zip line from the Orbit Tower (that red twisted thing outside the Olympic Stadium). The tower stands at a hight of approximately ridiculously high (about the same hight as the statue of liberty apparently) and there is no way you would EVER get me up there. What exactly are Royal Marines made of anyhow?

Ultimately, the honour of lighting the cauldron went to Margaret Maughan, Paralympic veteran and winner of Team GB’s very first gold medal in 1960. Then the now familiar cauldron roared to life once again – drawing together once more. A warming sight for all of us who felt a little down-hearted after seeing it extinguished at the close of those other games. It’s back to burn again – for the next eleven days at least – and I can’t express how happy I am about that. It truly is the best Olympic/Paralympic cauldron I have ever seen – I know I’m biased but screw it – it’s a thing of beauty.

Impressions and Expectations.

And finally, to cap things off, we had a performance from Beverly Knight singing “I Am What I Am”. Lets call a spade a spade (and yes Mr. Wilde – I’m not above using one) this was cheesy and performed in that Whitney Huston-esque style which I can’t stand – but you got to finish things off with something.

So what was my overall impression? Well, it got a little strange in the middle there and the overly long procession of nations really drained the life out of things but no one embarrassed themselves so I guess we can call it a success. There was one glaring omission in my eyes – and that is the issue of humour which highlighted both the opening and closing ceremonies of those other games. I have yet to meet a disabled person who lacked a sense of humour and I think some good-natured comedy would have been more than appropriate. A minor quibble perhaps but one I feel worth pointing out.

That aside, as I have said elsewhere before, the ceremonies are, in the end, just window dressing. What we came to see, and what I am looking forward to, is the sport which starts in earnest.

If we get half as many moments as last time around we are looking at an unforgettable week an’ a bit of action. Expect to see triumph over adversity. Expect to see determination and sportsmanship. Expect tears of joy and heartbreak. Expect to see London meet the world once more and for the world to meet London in a new light.

The Paralympics – it’s like the regular Olympics but we upped the ante.

[Once again, I failed to keep this brief]

London Bids Farewell to the 30th Olympiad.

So, last time I tried to talk about the Olympics, I got bogged down with all the patriotism and celebration which succeeded the event. This time around, I don’t want to do that. So here is my humble take on the Olympic closing ceremony (held on 12/08/12).

Back To Work.

As with the opening ceremony, the closing seemed to be split into sections – all-be-it with a slightly different overall tone. If the Open was an introduction to British culture with the intention to “do it right” then the closing was a celebration of it in the spirit of “the job is done – Let’s have fun.”

The first identifiable section was loosely framed around the working day London with the stadium dressed as a miniature (but massive) skyline of the city – more-or-less the complete antithesis of the ‘green and pleasant land’ presented before. No bizarre, chaotic transformation this time around though, just a strange cameo from Churchill expounding lines from The Tempest from the dome of St. Paul’s. Actually, that is quite bizarre. Winston was played by Timothy Spall, a very credible and entertaining actor, but – had he not been dressed as Churchill – I would have struggled to recognise it by the voice alone.

Then came the first batch of musical performers – headed up by Madness. Now, perhaps I’m a bit jaded because, after you have seen “Our House” performed on top of Buckingham Palace while rear projections of terraced houses transform the Queen’s house into a typical street, as per The Diamond Jubilee Concert a couple of months ago – it is very hard to top that. Still, it is a fan favourite and always welcome to these ears.

Then I looked away for a second to put the kettle on then, when I returned with my beverage, the screen was filled with pointy-hatted lunatics on bicycles that made me wonder if PG Tips had slipped something into my teabag. It was the Pet Shop Boys (/men/quite middle-aged men now) of course! doing “West End Girls” (keeping the ever tenuous connection to the London theme). They were followed by One Direction in a celebration of cheesy peppy bullshit that made me wish that PG Tips had started doing a new line in ‘special green teas’.

The whole thing was tied together with old bits of string – otherwise known as Stomp – which actually worked pretty well as the ‘city’ went about it’s business. This led into a performance of The Beatles song “A Day in the Life” which depicted people waking up, getting out of bed, combing their hair, having a cup of tea, looking at the clock… well you get the idea, it’s all a little on the nose don’t you think? I did, so I found my way upstairs and had a smoke… errr… I mean… had another cup of PG Tips.

Then came Ray Davies of The Kinks doing his love song to London “Waterloo Sunset” – y’know, that song your mum likes. No, I kid, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of The Kinks. What was less agreeable was Davies’ habit of telling the crowd when to do the “sh-la-la’s” which just put me in mind of the Old Jewish Man from The Simpsons. The section was capped of by a rendition of “Read All About It” performed by Emeli Sande.

More Power To Your Elbow.

Next, it was time to invite the Olympians to the party. And who better to do that than Elbow (who were also responsible for this). First came the 204 flags of the competing nations, each one carried by a national hero – with Ben Ainslie bringing up the rear flying the flag for Great Britain. Next came other assorted medallists, entering straight through the crowds. And finally, the waves upon waves of other competitors – winners, losers and runners-up alike.

All of this playing out to the sounds of “Open Arms”– a song that never fails at the best of times but, on this occasion, represents the most acutely chosen song of the whole ceremony. Watching the athletes wash-in in casual and festive mood – I found myself thinking, not of the heroes of golden glory, but of those amongst them who did not achieve their dreams – particularly when the song reached the refrain: “We got open arms for broken hearts” – it just seemed to re-enforce the notion that everyone was welcome. The song also contains another moment where Guy Garvey repeats the phrase “Everyone’s here” – neatly reflecting the theme from the Opening Ceremony – “This is for everyone.”

This was followed  by the songs spiritual predecessor – “On A Day Like This”  – which is one of those tunes that always makes me think of Glastonbury. I make a date to watch the BBC’s coverage of the Glastonbury Festival every year – it’s one of my favourite parts of the summer. Its a nice way to hear some new and interesting music but, what we are really waiting for, are those Glastonbury Moments – were the band is firing on all cylinders, the audience is alive with electricity, even the light is just right and the sound just moves you. Unfortunately, there was no festival this year – well the calender was a little full – but, thanks to Elbow, we did get a Glastonbury moment.

This section over-ran a little bit – I guess the athletes were having too much fun whilst coming into the stadium. But who cares, it was their party really – we were merely spectators. Besides, it was good to see Olympians at play – waving flags, dancing, displaying their medals, doing back-flips and the like. Also, as the previous batch of songs replayed to fill the gap, we were provided with an appearance from The Genius Camera Man aka Perv Cam (depending on your point of view)

Genius Camera Man refers to the habit of broadcasters at spectated events, particularly sporting events, to scan the crowds in order to pick out the prettiest fans to be put on the big screens. His ironic appearance came as the One Direction song “What Makes You Beautiful” replayed and Perv Cam cut to the Swedish women’s team celebrating. Genius!

More Tea Anyone?

The next bit was more than a little weird. In a tribute to Minecraft (or possibly Tetris), a multitude of luminous blocks were carried into the stadium by, what I can only describe as, zombie-mummy-robots. This all happened while a trippy remix/cover of Kate Bush’s (popularised by Placebo) “Running Up That Hill” played. The blocks were placed and arranged, first in a pyramid (probably just to make the conspiracy nuts wet their pants) and then a large, white monolith (which will come into play later).

Standing on Ceremony.

Next, we pause a moment to observe some of the more traditional elements. Chief amongst these being the presentation of the medals for the men’s marathon event. I’d like to contemplate that for a moment. Imagine being awarded your medal (well, imagine winning a medal in the first place.) on the centre stage, not only in front of all those people, not only in front of all your peers, but in front of the entire world. If Superman was ever to be awarded a gold medal – this would be the occasion to do it. So by that specious logic, Stephen Kiprotich of Uganda is Superman! (And then, of course, it’s your anthem that gets played)

Then a bit of business involving the Athletics Commission and a thank you to the volunteers – or “games-makers” as we were instructed to call them. I never liked that word – “games-makers” – it just sounds too much like a title conjured by committee. What’s wrong with the word volunteers? It tells you everything you need to know – these people gave their time, of their own accord, in order to help out. That’s a volunteer. Anyway, they got a quick tannoy of thanks and some flowers (Hardly the rapturous praise much of the general public would liked to have given them).

 The Show Must Go On.

And so it did, with a choral rendition of “Imagine”. But then, projected on the big screen (that constructed monolith), the man himself – as though live! Forgive me for being excited by that, but I come from a generation that has only known covers of that song (some good, some not so good – but always included in any celebration of British culture). A particularly apt choice, especially with the lines about “a brotherhood of man” which syncs nicely with the Olympic spirit of friendship.

I wish I could be as glowing with the next, flesh and blood, performer – George Michael. First he performed “Freedom” – a song that is completely empty aside from that one word. Then came one of those crappy techno ones that he periodically tries to shit down our throats. “I’m Alive” as far as I could gather but I fail to see why. The funniest part for me was watching the choir desperately trying to emote the repetitive refrain and believe it while their souls gradually leaked out of their pores. I mean seriously, is anyone proud of George Michael? Maybe you like his music, perhaps his antics amuse you – but proud? For me, watching this prancing Bono-wannabe proclaim “you are the centre of the universe” didn’t exactly fill me with pride.

This was capped of by a rendition of “Pinball Wizard” originally by The Who – accompanied by a flock of mod’s on motorbikes.

Dedicated Follower of Fashion.

Next came a David Bowie crash-mash of all his hits finally settling on “Fashion”. So came the next segment, a celebration of British fashion. Massive black and white billboards wheeled into the stadium depicting style icons. Then some models showed up and I got bored.

Viene tormenta!

After that it all got a bit dark and stormy. A huge longship-type-thing heralded the coming of The Dark One: Annie Lennox. She stood, Titanic-style, at the helm of this pirate-ship – steered by a crew of vampire-pirates (Who would win between a hoard of zombie-mummy-robots and a mob of vampire-pirates??) while she sang “Little Bird” from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Yeah, that was odd.

Next was another cover, this time Ed Sheeran doing Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”. It’s hard to go wrong with this song – especially when you have a veritable dream-team of classic rock musicians backing you up – but what I really liked was it was a straight cover and he didn’t feel the need to “make it his own” or “bring it up to date”. Sometimes, a classic is a classic and should remain unmolested.

For this one step forward, we took two large ones back. Enter that Essex-born pillock Russell Brand claiming, first to be Willy Wonka, and then to being The Walrus. NO, YOU ARE NOT! Now get down off that bus and put the megaphone down before you embarrass someone.

Pops, Bangs and Screeches.

Inevitably, we had an appearance from Fat Boy Slim (well, the top of his middle-aged head anyhow). He played… well, y’know, the same few tunes he’s been playing since the 90’s.

Then came Jessie J, looking awkward in a headline grabbing “see-through” catsuit, which might have been titillating had it not been so transparent. Even-so, perv cam’s head exploded along with the trousers of his loyal band of teenage boys. Jessie is an odd one, she certainly has the talent to be taken seriously but, pulling stunts like this, is not going to make that happen. Lady GaGa she is not – nor should she try to be. [I’ll say it now, Jessie J has the potential to go on long after we have all gotten bored of GaGa’s shenanigans – she just needs to pick a camp.]

Jessie was joined on stage by a procession of interchangeable pop ‘stars’ – the kind who like to tell their audience where they are every five seconds. [“London 20 12” apparently – apart from that one time when Jessie nearly shouted “Glastonbury” and probably hoped no-one noticed. Sorry, someone did.]

Then the “much anticipated” appearance of the Spice Girls happened. Their inclusion at the event had been leaked a few days prior and was one of the only things I knew about before hand. Seriously, who still cares?? Did anyone really jump up and down when they found out the Spice Girls were reforming again? If so, who? The fans from the first time time around? Surly they have long-since realised that their catalogue of songs is nothing but shameless self-promotion proclaiming nothing deeper than “we are the Spice Girls” and the hollow “movement” called “girl power” was about as important to women’s liberation as the right to wear false nails in the workplace. Or maybe, the second generation of fans from one of their multiple reunions – constantly disappointed by a lack of new material and cancelled tour dates? As for the performance itself – OH GOD – MY EARS, I THINK THEY ARE BLEEDING! Seriously girls, for the sake of music, break up again – please.

But the raping and rewriting of adolescent memories didn’t stop there – oh no. Here comes Beady Eye. Who? Beady Eye, y’know, Liam Gallager’s new band formed from the remnants of Oasis (minus the talented one). They performed “Wonderwall” a song which Noel performs better and that Liam has performed better i.e. not like someone who needs their adenoids taken out with a rusty coat-hanger. I guess nostalgia will only forgive so much.

The Five Ring Circus.

To lift our spirits, we had a snatch of ELO’s  “Mr. Blue Sky” – which everyone likes and is particularly amusing when played at night. As this played, a huge human cannon was wheeled into view and a fire-suited, crash-helmeted human cannonball made his entrance with a heroes handshake for everyone he met. Then it all went horribly wrong! The cannon tilted and the ball tumbled ineffectually into the floor.

So who was this would-be daredevil heartthrob? None other than Eric Idle – giving Rowan Atkinson and Daniel Craig a run for their money in the comedy stakes. He gave us a very welcome rendition of the song from Monty Python’s Life of Brian “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.” Who could fail to smile at that?

Musings and Monarchs.

Then, finally, Muse took to the stage to perform “Survival” – a song criminally underused in coverage of The Games. I have been waiting to hear some of their new stuff for a while, particularly live (various teasers only serving to whet my appetite further). I was not disappointed but, this performance seemed to be plonked in the middle with no particular dressing as though as a last minute insertion.

Now, there is an inherent problem with this track in that The Olympics has an ideology rooted in the spirit of ‘friendship’ and Matt Bellamy decided to compose a track evoking the spirit of competition. There is a contrast in this- one could be said to be expounding the virtues of civilisation (The Olympic Spirit) and the other could be said to be examining mankind’s compulsion towards more animistic tendencies (The Spirit of Competition) – which could be difficult to harmonise. This could be why Muse were included, but not necessarily celebrated (which is a shame).

Next, the big building block screen came back into play – once again resurrecting a lost idol – this time proving (if proof were needed) that Freddie’s classic warm-up routine has lost none of its charm and will always ride again.

Enter Brian May, featuring hair that increasingly resembles Doc Brown’s after the bolt hit him, with a live solo which, as only the best guitarists can do, was completely unaccompanied yet somehow sounded multi-layered.

Soon after Roger Taylor joined with the “Rock You Thump”. How pleased must he have been when he came up with that cheeky little refrain? Y’know, when society finally falls and our ancestors revert back to the status of mud-flinging cavemen – one of them will pick out the fractured femur of his vanquished rival and beat the “Rock You Thump” into his skull.

Then Jessie J returned to fill in the vocals but they left far too much echo on her voice.

Hand It Over, Boris.

Then we came to the winding down portion of the evening, heralded by the traditional playing of the Greek national anthem. Then a humours example of translation dissonance.

As you may or not know, the three languages spoken at The Olympics are French (for some reason), English (because lots of people speak it) and the language of the host nation (in this case English again so they only used the first two) [Its a bit like how in the chambers of the United Nations they only speak in about half a dozen languages on the understanding that most people can speak (or learn) at least one of them]. Well there was a habit by the French translator (a common one I suspect) for saying any name in the same tone and intonation of the language it comes from. In this case, he was talking in French then would suddenly switch to an English accent and back again – making it appear as though their was no French word for “London Male Voice Choir” (or for “Boris Johnson” for that matter) when they were introduced to sing The Olympic Anthem.

Then, Boris flies the flag again – and once again we feared he’d drop it and once again we sighed when he didn’t. It was his role to hand the flag over to Rio, the host of the next games, a ceremony he himself took part in four years previous, only this time he was the incumbent not the recipient.

You could see he was a little reluctant to give it up – and I can’t blame him. No one wanted this golden festival of sport to end – No one wanted to see this once in a lifetime moment finally pass into history and memory. But that is, ultimately, the true spirit of the games – succession. As Beijing gave to us, we must give to Rio and they must give to the next, so that the promise can be kept and the games can be contested once again.

A Taste of Rio.

Next came another traditional bit, a show within a show, giving the next host nation the chance to show us all what they have in store. And so, the Brazilians representing Rio de Janeiro. Was you expecting a carnival? Well good, because that’s what we got – complete with flashing neon versions of those peacock tail dresses they wear.

This part, although brief, actually had a much stronger and more easily identifiable narrative than the broader ceremony that surrounded it. The story, such as it was, involved a little road-sweeper fella introducing another man in a suit to the sights and sounds of Rio. So after the obligatory carnival, there was some odd stuff involving fluorescent green hats (that particular shade of green that always puts me in mind of the pharmacy scene from Natural Born Killers – not that that has anything to do with this) and then a celebration of samba, which to my uncultured ears sounds a lot like a Latino version of those soul singers from the seventies. Then the party was capped off with the entrance of one of Brazil’s greatest sporting legends – Pele. In the international game of Top Trumps, were we would most likely put up David Beckham, I have to say: fair play, you win.

In all seriousness, based on this display, I’m quite looking forward to the next games – I can’t wait to see which flavours the South Americans bring to the mix and, if I start saving now, I might even try to book a flight myself to join the carnival.

The Power of Speech.

As the games continued to wind down, it was time to hear once more from Sebastian Coe and Jacques Rogge. A massive cheer echoed around the stadium as Seb Coe stepped up to speak and then he proceeded to thank everyone as though he had just been handed an Oscar – at one point I was waiting for that music to fade up to rush him off the stage. Then he thanked the volunteers (for I will never call them Games-Makers) and received an even bigger cheer – the British public providing a much more apt tribute in that one sound than anyone else could. I would like to echo what Coe said – Thanks for keeping everyone safe and making sure everything went without a hitch so we could all focus on the sport – or as Rogge put it – they were the “heroes of these games”.

Seb went on to talk about the overall aim of these games – the capacity and desire to inspire a generation (and we all appreciate that this coming generation is in dire need of something inspirational.) and the concept of ‘legacy’ (which I’m sure will soon start to irritate). He rounded off his speech reflecting on his previous statement that London 2012 should be “a games for everyone”  adding that we had produced “a games by everyone” and that “we did it right.” And, yes, in my humble opinion, we did – in the face of everything that a skeptical British public could throw at it – we delivered.

In Rogge’s speech he commented on the enthusiasm of the cheering fans throughout the games. This amuses me. We are very well aware of our reputation internationally (as Brits – and in particular as The English) for being reserved, repressed or even up-tight. While individually you could probably build quite a good picture of this stereotype; when you put us together in a group or crowd – something different happens. If you have ever witnessed Brits abroad you can attest to this – ‘reserved’ is not the word I would use and it is not their upper-lips that remain stiff over the weekend.

He closed his portion by calling the event a “happy and glorious games” which was a nice and faintly touching nod to our culture (with Team GB taking care of “send[ing] us victorious”) and the traditional “call to the youth of the world” to meet in four years to contest the games again – even more potent thanks to all that talk of legacy previously.

Tears for a Dying Flame.

If you didn’t like the part where Boris handed over the flag, you really aren’t going to like this next bit. The time had come to extinguish the flame and  put the final full stop on the 30th Olympiad.

Having drawn together in the opening ceremony – each arm representing a different nation – it was time for the cauldron to separate again, dispersing the countries back to their rightful places on the planet. The structure, a true testament to British engineering, fanned out into a dome-shape from which a Phoenix rose. [pictured above]

This was followed by a performance from Take That who sang “Rule the World”. I wonder whether this song might get lost in translation – whether what is essentially an over-powered love song might worry foreign listeners into thinking we were reasserting our claim for world dominance. Nah, probably not.

Next came the obligatory fireworks display that seems to follow the band like a particularly fanatical pyromaniac. From the smoke another Phoenix swept down onto the stage. It was, in fact, Darcey Bussell – prima ballerina – who led what I can only describe as a techno-ballet. The sort of thing that fans of The Fifth Element’s take on “Lucia Di Lammermoor” would be excited by and leaves us uncultured-types mystified (but in a good way though).

After this performance, the dome finally lowered into its original ring position and the flame gradually died. That was a sad moment when it had finally gone. We had seen that flame travel the length and breadth of our country – carried by celebrities, legends, heroes and common-folk alike – touching everyone it met. One tiny, symbolic flame had somehow reignited the latent fires stoking this country – had brought unexpected hope to the ever increasing cold and darkness of a nation under crisis. We had watched it burn brightly, illuminating such dreams and heartaches that we shall never see again – always standing guard over the games and ensuring The Olympic Spirit was upheld.

Then it faded away to darkness, as it must, leaving only ashes and memory. It was over. The flame was gone. Its for us now to relight it once again, on our own. Its for us to remember that flame, those two glorious weeks when we was its keeper – when we showed to ourselves and everyone that: We can do this. Its not impossible. Its for us to remember that flame, make it blaze again and to teach our next generation how to carry it.

By way of a swansong, we were treated to a medley performed by The Who comprised of “Baba O’Riley”, “See Me, Feel Me” and of course culminating with  “My Generation” – a song comfortably re-appropriated by each succeeding generation – belonging, really, to none of them. That’s how it should be, and long may it continue, and perfect way of rounding out the party. I no longer view “My Generation” as a Who song – it’s ours now – and this is when they gave it to us.

In Closing.

After all’s said and done, what did I think of the closing ceremony? Well, compared to the seminal spectacle of the opening ceremony, it was certainly a less coherent affair – sometimes having the feel of a pop concert desperately trying not to be a pop concert.

I also had a slight issue about who it was aimed at. If the open was “For Everyone” designed with an eye toward what the rest of the world would make of it – the closing seemed to be “For Us” with an eye toward what the British public would enjoy. Now, there is no real problem in doing this but, if I didn’t speak English and was unfamiliar with western popular music, I would have found the whole thing mind-numbingly boring. Sorry, but its true.

But perhaps the reason I didn’t enjoy it as much as I could have is for the same reason that you can’t enjoy that one last Sunday of the summer holidays – that part of your brain that likes to tell you “its back to work on Monday” keeping you from fully enjoying that last party.

Maybe that’s it. I don’t want to wait another four years to do it all over again.

Thankfully, we got the Paralympics to celebrate before we say goodbye for good.

———

Note to self: Next time I write something this long I’m gunna do it in parts or something because it takes a lot of patience to sit here and read this entire thing in one go.

Post-Olympic Optimism.

It is my intent to do a review (of sorts) of the London 2012 closing ceremony but, just as before, there is a little bit of business to address beforehand.

Now, I’m not one to gloat in I-told-you-so’s but… I told you so! Admit it, even the most skeptical and grumpiest of my countrymen (even the northerners – and especially the Yorkshire-men) found the Olympic spirit irresistible. We all got swept up in it – young, old – sports fanatics and casual fans – doubters and dreamers.

We all came together to cheer on our favourites, to celebrate achievement and share heart-break. Shouts were loosed and breath was held. Laughs were had and tears spilled. New heroes took to the world stage and veteran legends took their final bow. Memories forged for a lifetime.

And that, my friends, is The Olympic Games – one of mankind’s greatest endeavours.

Here in Britain, we had much to celebrate – as athletes from around the nation declared a new age of British sport and returned with an impressive haul of sixty-five medals (twenty-nine gold, seventeen silver and nineteen bronze).

Also, living in our unique multi-cultural environment (and I meant to bring this up before) the parties were not restricted to just the domestic nation. My heritage is strictly tied to Great Britain (it seems my ancestors rarely stepped off this sceptred isle) so I was firmly behind Team GB, but my neighbour (for example) migrated to this country and was able to root for both Team GB (as his home nation) and his country of origin. This meant that the streets of London was washed in colour on a nightly bases – best shown by the Jamaican street parties that erupted after their successes on the athletics track.  Also, I always keep half an eye on our neighbours to the west Ireland who picked up five medals (one gold, one silver and three bronze) [which has stopped Andy Parsons from doing that joke].

So what were my particular highlights? Well you have to give a nod to our continued success at the velodrome, in particular the parting performances of Chris Hoy and Victoria Pendleton, and also on the water in the rowing and sailing (but not swimming).

But these examples of continued success (though impressive) are not what caught my imagination. I found myself captivated by the athletics (screw you Greg Proops), the boxing (including the first ever women’s events) and what has been dubbed “Super Saturday”.

Special mentions to the Brownlee brothers (always nice to see a bit of friendly sibling rivalry), Mo Farah for taking gold in both the Men’s 5000m and Men’s 10,000m and Tom Daily  who won his first medal – bronze, but it may as-well have been gold for the relief and elation we all felt.

But for me, the big moment was when Jessica Ennis won gold in the women’s heptathlon. If you read my previous post, where I talked about how the multiple-disipline events (decathlon, heptathlon, pentathlon, triathlon) are the best all-round athletes at the games: well,  Jessica is the personification of this. Going into the final contest of the event (the 800m) she already had the lead and was practically guaranteed gold. It’s plainly not for her to rest on her laurels however, as she dug down deep for her home crowd and went on to win the final race. That is what makes a champion – and that is why she is my national hero.

Outside of Team GB, the Olympic superstar was – once again – Usain Bolt. His countryman Yohan Blake however, was hot on his heels the entire way and a new great sporting rivalry feels imminent. We also waved goodbye to the most decorated Olympian of all time as Michel Phelps announced his retirement.

In the larger picture, the USA and China renewed their rivalry once more for dominance at the top of the table. The US won out in the end, thanks largely to their success in the pool. But my heart goes to Cyprus, Guatemala and Grenada – who each got to bring a medal back home for the first time ever.

So, in the end, it was the Olympic Games we all hoped for, not without controversy, but disaster-free. A theatre that promised the greatest show on earth, and the athletes who provided it. Even the organisers and administrators didn’t let us down but the highest praise has to go to the thousands of volunteers who made it possible.

Britain welcomed the world and the world didn’t disappoint.

The world came to London and (I’d like to think) left with the spirit of friendship.

And, y’know what, Team GB took on the pressures of performing in-front of  their home crowd and was rewarded with our adulation – smashing our expectations to pieces.

It’s just a shame it’s all over – well at least for another four years – where the party moves to Rio de Janeiro and our first ever South American Olympics. And I wish them all the best!

(As for the Thank you’s – I’ll leave that to the Mayor: Boris Johnson)

[Again, I did intend on talking about the actual closing ceremony itself – but it seems I filled this post up with positivity. So next time [sometime during the week] I expect I should probably go over that because I feel that I should cap this thing off properly.]

London Welcomes the 30th Olympiad.

So, last time I tried to talk about the Olympics, I got got bogged down with all the pessimism and negativity which proceeded the event. This time around, I don’t want to do that. So here is my humble take on the Olympic opening ceremony (held on 27/07/12).

Our Green & Pleasant Land.

I have to admit, when I saw our first view of the Olympic stadium, dressed up like a quaint English village, my heart sank a little. This was one of the few details that we knew about beforehand (I guess trying to hide the construction of a massive chunk of countryside in the middle of the capital would have been a pointless endeavour). Instantly I thought “Oh no.”

You see, for me, the image of a quaint little England – complete with cricketers playing on the lawn and morris men dancing around the may-pole – is so old fashioned as to boarder on offensive. This lazy and tired stereotype of Britain has little to nothing to do with what it is to be a modern Brit and less still with what it is to be a Londoner in 2012.

For me, its just as mawkish and narrow sighted as pointing to a picture of Cletus “the slack-jawed yokel” Spuckler and saying “that’s what all Americans are like” – not what you’d expect from the director of Trainspotting and 28 Days Later! To my relief, the show moved on and the whole thing transformed.

Industrialisation.

Enter the engineers, represented by Isambard Kingdom Brunel – one of our greatest Britons –  to conduct the transformation of the vista from the peaceful rural landscape into a bustling heart of industry – taking on a potted history of how the British evolved through the 20th century.

Now, I have some issues with ‘celebrating’ this episode of history (which I won’t go into details with here) which mainly stem from the successors of the industrial revolution – the age of commercialism and consumerism (both pseudonyms for exploitation in my book) and the observations of Dickens and Marx. But that’s all beside the point.

Back to the show: I didn’t like this section, but not because of the reservations and biases raised above, but for different (somewhat shallower) reasons. I understand this section was entitled something like Pandemonium and that’s exactly what it looked like. [Now, I feel I should give Danny Boyle credit for doing exactly what it says on the tin but…]

There was simply too much going at once. Smokestacks rose from the ground, the grass was rolled back to reveal a lattice of steel and concrete, Suffragettes marched and war soldiers mourned, The Chelsea Pensioners and the Sgt. Peppers circled as the people toiled. It was less a progression and more a hodgepodge dumped in the spectator’s lap.  Now, I have a relatively good grasp of the history of Britain through the 20th century (only, don’t test me on it) but I struggled to keep up – so, I imagine, onlookers from overseas would find the whole thing a confusing, possibly alienating, open to the whole thing.

This section did, however, culminate in one of my favourite moments of the whole ceremony – the introduction of the Olympic rings (pictured above). The steelworkers at the heart of this hive of activity enacted the construction of a giant ring which, upon completion, rose into the air and was joined by the other four from the corners of the stadium to form a free-floating Olympic logo.

Its the symbolism inherent in this that really spoke to me. The notion that, as each person worked diligently on there small part of it, the parts would eventually combine to create, in essence, an Olympic games founded on hard work. To me, it was a nice salute to all of the organisers, large and small, who worked on putting the games together.

A Celebration of British Culture.

Next came what I’ve been calling ‘the fun bit’ – starting with the introduction of The Queen to the stadium – escorted by James Bond no less. A surreal meeting of world-renowned British icons (one real, one fictional) that couldn’t fail to resonate the funny-bone.

I’ve resisted the temptation of mentioning the Beijing games up to this point – ignoring the prevailing question “How will London top the Chinese opening ceremony?”  From day one, we all knew that trying to outmatch the scale and spectacle of what they managed in 2008 would be foolish – so the only avenue left to us was to “make it our own.”

The inclusion of humour is one of the best ways of doing this – proud as we are of our nation’s wealth of comic talent and the general outlook of our people. This stands as a distinct contrast to Beijing which, by comparison, seemed to be a very serious affair.

My only gripe was that I would have liked to have seen some of the other Bond’s feature in some capacity (rather than just the current incarnation – Daniel Craig). Imagine our sovereign being escorted, Reservoir Dogs – style  (which we are allowed to rip-off since that sequence itself is largely a rip-off of A Clockwork Orange)  by not one, but six 007’s.

In fact, this puts me in mind of another icon of British fiction, easily a match for Bond in the international recognition stakes,  who was strangely absent (see what I did there). Save for one brief sound clip of the TARDIS engine, there was no appearance from the good Doctor. If I was in charge (and thankfully, I’m not) I would have had the Bond’s and the surviving Who’s meet for the first time ever. That would’ve been epic!

But, enough of what didn’t happen, let’s get back to what did. The other highlight from this section was a sketch performed by Rowan Atkinson, reprising his role as Mr Bean. His inclusion was nothing short of a stroke of genius.

Mr Bean – being a silent act – is know around the world (like the stars of the silent age of cinema before him such as Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp character) since there is no language barrier to overcome. The inclusion of comedy, once again, marking us out from the rest of the world and emphasizing the importance of fun amongst the serious business of the games.

The final part of this section celebrated another aspect of British culture which we are massively proud of :- music. As the codifiers of rock ‘n’ roll (The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin – to name just a few) we have always had a love affair with creating and sharing good music.

This was depicted by one massive game of ‘name that tune’ which, hopefully, had many international viewers saying “I didn’t know that band/that song was British!” (but, in all likelihood, had just as many people saying “I’ve never heard of any of them”) The TV clips that accompanied this musical montage were pretty obscure so, if you are reading this outside of the UK and you recognised any of them – give yourself a pat on the back.

Enter the Olympians.

Everything up until this point has been window-dressing – entertaining and well executed window-dressing, but window-dressing none the less. The real reason we have gathered here is to find out which of the planet’s greatest athletes will claim the ultimate accolade and become an Olympic champion. And for that we need to introduce the athletes.

In past games, I have messed up the timing and tuned in late – missing ‘the fun bit’ and switching on just as the announcer says “We welcome Greece into the stadium” (Traditionally, the Greeks lead the procession into the stadium – being the spiritual inventors of the Olympics).  This time around I had no such problem since 9pm actually meant 9pm. [Beijing being eight hours ahead, Athens just two ahead but Sydney being ten ahead and Atlanta being five behind. (I’m not even sure I’ve got that right – that’s how much international time-zones trip me up)]

This is an important part of the ceremony, commencing the ‘official’ part of the event which includes the oaths (which are very important) and the official opening of the games by the country’s premier (in this case our dear ol’ Queen)

Since this is largely the same from Olympiad to Olympiad, I’m struggling to find something new to say about ‘our take’ on this section. The only thing worth noting is the curious appearance of a collection of copper ‘petals’ which accompanied each nation’s flag as they entered the stadium (more on those later).

Light that bad boy up!

So after a brief interlude which included a performance from The Artic Monkeys  (so there you go northerners – you were included) and the aforementioned oaths and speeches. We come to what for many is the crowning moment of any Olympic ceremony – the arrival of the torch.

Having travelled all the way from Athens, all the way around the nation and even making a cameo appearance on Eastenders –  the Olympic flame finally arrived in the stadium via speed boat ‘piloted’ by David Beckham, up the Thames and into the hands of Sir Steven Redgrave.

As with previous games, speculation had been rife as to who would be the one to light the cauldron and start the games (even though The Queen had already officially done that by that point – but you know what I mean). As the winner of gold medals in five consecutive games and, legitimately, one of our greatest Olympians – Redgrave was many people’s pick for the honour of the task.

My pick? Daley Thompson. My reasoning being that, if the Olympics is the crown of all sporting achievement then the winner of the decathlon must be the jewel in the very centre because of having to master multiple disciplines. Alas, both me and the rest who placed their bets were delightfully wrong.

Instead of doing the traditional thing of giving the honour of taking the torch around the stadium to our best sporting legends and veterans – we decided to give that honour to a collection of up-and-coming future stars, nominated by our veterans (including Steve Redgrave, Daley Thompson and Dame Kelly Holmes – who was also highly tipped). Thus passing the torch in the most literal fashion possible.

So who of this group of youngsters would be the one to light the cauldron? Well, again against the odds, all of them! How? Well, thanks to the unique construction of the cauldron. Remember those ‘petals’? Well each of those were attached to the end of a long stem and then each of them were ignited by the torches into a vast ‘flower’ of fire. Then the stems drew together forming the cauldron.

IT. WAS. AMAZING!

By far, my favourite part of the whole thing and, once again, thanks largely to the symbolism of the thing. Just as the rings drew together from ‘the four corners’ – the cauldron was carried in, piece by piece, by each nation right under our noses – and we never even realised. As before, the message being that, it is only with the participation of everyone that the games are possible in the first place – echoing a common thread throughout : “This is for Everyone!”

After this, Sir Paul McCartney – our Macca – rounded things off with a rendition of his fan favourite “Hey Jude” (so there you go northerners – you were included). Despite the fact that I’m not a massive fan of this song (all those na-na-na’s start to grate after a while) this was the right choice to put the final full-stop on the event. Its inclusive and everyone (else) likes it.

It does raise one question for me: Where were Muse? This is not just a random preponderance – they did write the official theme for the games – “Survival.” As a band that is consistently voted as one of the best live bands of all time, you would have thought their inclusion would have been a no-brainer. [Perhaps they are saving them for the closing ceremony.]

Let the Games Begin!

Like I said before, the opening ceremony is really only window-dressing and is always much more important to the host nation than it is to the others watching around the world (who are only really waiting to see their team take their place in the procession)

Having said that, I would struggle to call our take on the opening ceremony anything other than a complete success. Uniquely British, yet internationally accessible. Traditional and spectacular, yet risk-taking and humorous.

Something to be proud of for sure and a good measuring stick for the planners of  the next one in Rio [three hours behind.]

Pre-Olympic Pessimism.

As a Brit, I feel it would be churlish of me not to address one of the biggest parties on the planet which, you may have noticed, has just kicked off in my back garden. But before I get to the spectacle that was the London 2012 opening ceremony, there is a little bit of business to get through first…

Since it was announced on the sixth of July 2005, some of my fellow countrymen have viewed the games as nothing but a pain in the tailpipe. [Some dickheads who thought it was a good idea to throw bombs around the capital the day after it was announced didn’t really help matters either.]

Now while I can sympathise that hearing about the games, more or less, non-stop for the past seven years did start to wear a little thin – particularly after Boris accepted the flag at Beijing’s 2008 closing ceremony [although we did get a few Boris-isms out of it, including the legendary whiff-whaff speech].

Yes, it did wear a bit thin hearing about it every five minutes (particularly for us in the south-east who are close enough for developments to feature in our local news – but not close enough for that news to affect us directly.) and anticipation for the games to start soon wore into frustration to get the preamble over with. To use a particularly English phrase – they over egged the pudding.

Another aspect that seemed to stick in peoples guts was the issue of the cost of the thing. Again, I can’t really provide a solid argument against that – Olympic games don’t come cheap. But the people who seemed the most irate over this topic seemed to believe the politicians when they said that hosting the games would generate a shit-tonne of revenue and dig us out of this current financial crisis. Well – they lied (or more charitably, they got it wrong). What self-respecting Brit believes anything that any politician has ever said ever? Growing up in this country, you soon learn that all politicians (regardless of party lines) promises Olympus and delivers Snowdon (no disrespect to the Welsh.)

Yet another thing that got people hot under the collar, was the cataloge of various administrative errors that popped up from time to time – primarily those surrounding ticket allocation. Its perfectly fine to be annoyed by that – it was pretty much a debacle. What’s less understandable are the people who were surprised by this. Again, I refer you to the paragraph above. Administrative cock-ups are what we do best. Nothing – from the trains to the banks to the taxation system – works how it is supposed to. Its all bodged together with gaffa tape and Tip-Ex,  held in place by frustrated watch-glances and red tape and prodded along by angry letters (and blog posts).

Again, growing up in this country, you learn to except, and even accommodate, these foul-ups and inefficiencies with the wry humour that we are known for across the world stage (and that I, for one, am especially proud of). Of course things went wrong – it was even the basis for BBC comedy Twenty-Twelve [and even Al Murray was saying “it’s gunna be a bit shit” back in 2009.]

But there is one thing that we don’t make a mess of – and that is the big show on the grand stage. Whether it be mega-concerts such as Live Aid/Eight/Earth/Kettle/Fish and the yearly festivals like Glastonbury or the Edinburgh festival; or the pomp and ceremony that come with royal weddings or occasions like the Jubilee celebrations – we always deliver in our own (somewhat understated) way. Or even when it comes to sport – we have hosted Commonwealth games and world championships before and, practically every weekend, we manage multiple stadia worth of people with little to no trouble (at least in modern times). Its one of those things that, because it happens every week, we don’t really think about and we let our natural, inherent pessimism persuade us that its all going to be a disaster and its best to distance ourselves from the whole thing. I think this is one of the key things keeping people from embracing the games – they don’t want to look foolish and they do want to be able to say “I told you so.”

The final group of people who seem embittered over the games are the northerners who don’t feel included in the games. If they gave out medals for being caustic and stroppy then, not only would they win, but our friends in the north would probably be too indignant to show up to collect it. If only we had some kind of torch relay or something that went the length and breadth of the country so they could feel included? [Also, you can’t be arsed to drive down the M1 but you’ll all pile onto a plane to Magaluf for two weeks no problem]

Some Londoners were also annoyed – but then Londoners are always annoyed at something (and I come from a family of ’em so I’m allowed to say that.)

The point is that, for all of the above reasons and more, people have had a downer on the games and I think that’s a shame. The fact is, I’ll be long in my box before The Olympics come to my home nation again (not least to a city with which I have strong familiar ties) or, at the very least, on my rocker detailing with rose-tinted accuracy just how marvellous the tele-commnication age was and why Twitter should never have gone out of fashion. The term “once in a lifetime” is chucked about a lot these days – we’re about two short steps away from the ad men using it on us to sell chocolate bars – but The Olympics is one of those rare occasions when it is true.

So now that the countdown is over, its been paid for (or at least, the money has been spent – in either case, we’re not getting it back) and we have somehow negotiated the logistical minefield of organising the thing – the only thing left to do is enjoy it! And if you can’t get into the spirit of things and enjoy it – even from the comfort of your own living room – then you really should spend the next couple of weeks trying to crack inter-stellar space travel because this race is not for you.

[I did intend on talking about the actual opening ceremony itself – which I just watched – but it seems I filled this post up with negativity. So next time [sometime over the weekend] I expect I should probably go over that because I feel that it would have done a lot to dispel much of the apathetic feeling outlined above.]

The Decline of The Public House – Part Two

In the previous part, I looked at the current trend in pub closures and discussed a little about the importance of the public house in building our communities.

In this concluding, part I shall attempt to discover some of the key reasons that this situation has arisen in the first place and to examine what social implications may result.

Reasons For Decline.

One of the first reasons unearthed by even a casual amount of research on the topic of pub closures is the issue of taxation. In the UK, alcohol (and other ‘luxury’ products) have an added duty placed on them. What this means is the price of a pint (in the same way as a litre of petrol) is heavily influenced by the amount of tax the vendor has to pay.

Now, this may be basic economics but, where the sale of alcohol in particular differs is it is subject to things like the beer tax escalator. This (and others like it) is a special tax that practically guarantees that taxation will increase each year for the foreseeable future (possibly indefinitely). According to an e-petition created by Chris Schofield and posted on direct.gov.uk (which at time of writing has been signed by just shy of 40,000 people):

“Every year, the beer tax escalator increases the tax on beer by 2% above the rate of inflation…”
– Chris Schofield’s “e-petition – Stop the beer duty escalator”  on  direct.gov.uk
(Closing Date: 15/02/2013 09:00)

But this is not a new phenomena and we have already seen sharp increases in taxation over the last few years. In fact, according to Jon Howard of the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA):

“… pubs [were] hit by an inflation-busting 42% increase in beer duty since 2008 …”
– “CAMRA releases new national pub closure research” by Jon Howard
(30th April 2012)

This increase in tax, and ultimately price, makes it difficult for businessmen (in this case publicans) to plan a sure course for the future. Faced with the prospect of a business that is likely to haemorrhage money over the next five years and beyond, many are taking the understandable decision to cut their losses and shut up shop. As a consequence, new people looking to invest are less likely to see the pub as a viable investment, particularly if they are looking for a safe, bankable return. Therefore, it has become increasingly more likely that, once a pub has closed, it will remain closed.

In another case, if the publican does decide to remain open for business, the only option available to them is to put their prices up in order to squeeze their margins and compensate the tax. This has an unavoidable effect on demand and it is this drop in demand, or the willingness of people to pay the higher price, that has affected the pub trade more than some of the other areas of the drinks industry.

Increase in Home Drinking.

There are many different types of pubs to tempt you out of an evening. From the quiet, ghost-town pubs, haunted by fading flock wallpaper and heavy oak furniture; to lively, sports-bar pubs decked in neon and chrome, dressed with funky, lightweight barstools and a resident DJ. There are family pubs where you can get a plate of steak and chips and a small coke for the kids, and there are drinking pubs where eating-is-cheating and the most nutritious thing available is a packet of dry roasted.

Whatever the style or patronage of the place, each publican / landlord / manager etc relies on the same thing – measurable returns and repeat business. If the proprietor of a dark and dingy dive on the edge of town knows that the same six guys are going to come along every Saturday and drink the place dry, then (assuming they drink enough to cover his bills) he knows he can remain open, even with little to no mid-week trade. By the same token, if the bar manager of a sleek and shinny trendsetter in the high street knows that his is the favourite spot for young people to meet before heading on to the club then, even at one of two drinks a pop, the sheer numbers will keep him afloat for as long as it remains the place to go.

The problem is, what with the increases in price and a general decrease in expendable income, people are less inclined to go out of a weekend- reserving it as an occasional treat or for a special occasion. Those six guys find it kinder on their wallets to take a trip to the supermarket and buy a create of cheap beers to drink at home (where they can also smoke indoors) leaving the proprietor struggling to balance his books. The young people find it more economically viable to ‘pre-load’ – drinking a bottle of cheap wine etc before going out – rather than pay by the glass at the pub, leaving the bar manager to contemplate ways of serving food in the evenings in an effort to try and drum-up some mid-week trade (which could throw him into an unwinnable competition with another restaurant or fast food place on the high street).

Now this is not purely speculation on my part, I do have some evidence to back this theory up. James Morgan over at  Scienceomega.com writes this:

“According to 2006 figures from the British Beer & Pub Association, 83 per cent of all wine drunk is consumed at home, and most of this alcohol is purchased from large supermarkets.”
-“Lack of research concerning home drinking” by James Morgan Scienceomega.com
(15 March 2012)

So there is a trend for people rejecting the pub in favour of cheaper supermarket prices. But how come supermarkets and other off-licences can charge less in the first place?

Well, unlike the pub trade, shops are not reliant on repeat business of alcohol alone as they sell many other products besides. This means they can (and often do) sell alcohol at a loss and recoup that loss by inflating the price on other products. If the rate of tax increases on alcohol and you wish to keep charging at a low price then you can just increase the price on other products by a few pennies until your tax bill is covered.

Aside from the aforementioned dry roasted peanuts and the occasional rizla packet, the publican doesn’t have this option as their primary trade is in the sale of alcohol, which they must sell at the inflated price in order to cover their bill.

As this tax increase has gone on year after year, the gap has gotten ever wider between the price that the supermarkets can get away with charging and what the publicans must charge at the pump. It is this gulf that has given rise to the drastic change in market trends and, as we shall explore next, this change could have unseen ramifications on our society.

Social Implications.

Trends change. We don’t carry on doing things the same way all the time because tastes, priorities and opportunities shift and we adapt to whatever comes along next.

I mean, it wasn’t so long ago that we all sent letters to one another at regular intervals to keep in touch. Then someone [either an Italian or a Scot ] invented the telephone and it became easier to call home instead. Now, as developments in technology continue, we have e-mail and skype with next big thing just around the corner ready to be embraced.

So a change in trends is perfectly natural, and indeed healthy, when it is in the service of pushing the boundaries forward. It can also be painful however, as grand-parents lament the abandonment of a certain skill set needed to compose a ‘proper’ letter and parents bemoan their children for texting each other rather than just picking up the phone.

So how then, when we are talking about the decline in the public house, do we differentiate between rose-tinted moaning over the loss of a much loved institution and a genuine argument that we have lost something important? Well I feel the answer to that lays in whether or not the change in question is better for us overall.

Now, had the decline of pubs put an end to this nation’s drinking culture – which is responsible for a lot of problems in our society – then you would have to admit (possibly somewhat begrudgingly) that it was a change for the better. But I don’t think it has and so I don’t think it is.

We are a nation of drinkers. Not universally I know but, as a cultural stereotype and a national pastime, it still ranks pretty high. The closure of pubs and the shift to home drinking hasn’t changed that. It is still Saturday night out there – only now it is Saturday night in your living room – where you can’t run out of money before you run out of booze, you can’t get barred and it is always a late licence. What exactly is there to stop all of those problems that plague(d) our town centres after kick out – the fights, the arguments, the impulsive stupidity and uncontrolled evacuations – from following us in to our homes? And could there be worse besides?

“Home drinking is invisible and individuals have to set their own boundaries about acceptable levels of consumption and behaviour.”
– From  “Lack of research concerning home drinking” by James Morgan on Scienceomega.com quoting Dr John Foster from University of Greenwich School of Health & Social Care.
(15 March 2012)

When you are at a pub, there are certain checks and balances that, while they will not ensure your safety, will at least curb some of the more destructive behaviours.

If, for example, you have had a heavy session and are struggling to stay upright on the barstool then any landlord worth their salt will pull the “refusal of service” card and force you to grumble off home to sleep it off. Failing that, there is a certain social pressure that, even with alcohol’s legendary power to diminish a person’s inhibitions, should keep you from making a complete tit of yourself. If you get too rowdy and start a fight then the bar staff will throw you out and / or phone the police (it‘s faster than a letter) and even if you do get beaten up, you are in a public place so someone will find you sooner rather than later.

Now, if you are drinking in your living room and, lets say, you went a little overboard at the off-licence – coming home with a crate of beers, a couple bottles of wine and some spirits to boot – who is there to stop you from ploughing through the lot and getting yourself dangerously drunk? Who is there, other than your friends who are likely just as drunk as you are, to tut you into behaving yourself? And, should the worse happen and a fight breaks out, who is there to stop it? And where can you go to cool off? You can’t go home, you are already there. And if you was to get hurt, how long could you lay on your living room floor before help comes?

So no, I don’t think an increase in habitual home drinking – which was once the reserve of the bona fide alcoholic – is a change for the better. I feel that drinking, or at least drinking with the sole intention of getting drunk, is best done in public where at least there is someone around who is sober and detached enough to deal with things if they go wrong.

There is, however, a greater danger present than these problems. It comes from this: In order to be a society, we must socialise. In this country, the pub is the venue of choice for this. It’s is where friendships and communities grow. It’s where news is shared and plans are formed. It’s where teams are put together for quizzes, for darts, for football, for pool. It’s where people from different walks of life mingle and exchange opinions. In short, it’s where the heart is and, if we are not prudent, it may stop beating for good.

In Summery.

So all that is left to say really is, don’t give up on your local – it’s every bit as important as the library or the schools. I know it’s difficult to spare the money to pay a visit these days, but you should at least try and make the effort once and a while. At the end of the day, when last orders have been called and the chairs are being stacked on the tables, if you love your pub the way it is and don’t want to see it join the growing list of the fallen, then they need your custom. You’ll miss it once it’s gone – trust me on that.

References:

• “A dozen pubs close each week” By James Hall – The Telegraph (30th April 2012)
• “CAMRA releases new national pub closure research” by Jon Howard – Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) (30th April 2012)
• “Men give up on the pub! Beer drinking drops by a quarter in just five years as men stay at home” By Sean Poulter – The Daily Mail (21st December 2011)
• CAMRA Pub Closure research- 6 month breakdown – (September 2011 – March 2012)
• “The Great British Pub” – HistoricUK.com
• “British village life ‘dying out’ after pub closures” By BBC News Uk – (18th September 2010)
• Chris Schofield’s “e-petition – Stop the beer duty escalator”  on  direct.gov.uk
  (Closing Date: 15/02/2013 09:00)
• “Lack of research concerning home drinking” by James Morgan on Scienceomega.com (15 March 2012)

See Also:

• That caps it off!!! – For more of my thoughts on how governmental interferance may be making the recession worse, not better. (January 23, 2012)

External Links:

• To see how much you could be paying in tax for life’s little luxuries see “Vice-ometer calculator: Your tax” By Richard Browning on ThisIsMoney.co.uk (21 March 2012)
• For a podcast on the outlook for the pub industry see “The state and future of the pub” Rick Muir talks to Claire Cain on Pod Academy (March 9, 2012)
• For more reason why the pub is important to our way of life see “Pubs and places: The social value of community pubs” By Rick Muir on IPPR.org (24 Jan 2012)
• For more thoughts by Dr. John Foster see “Minimum alcohol pricing is to be welcomed – University Greenwich expert” By The University of Greenwich on alphagalileo.org (23 March 2012)
• And for a general history, role and categorisation of pubs see  “Public House” on good ‘ol Wikipedia

The Decline of the Public House – Part One

“…300 pubs closed between September 2011 and March 2012…”
– The Telegraph (30th April 2012)

“…12 pubs now close across Britain every week…”
– Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) (30th April 2012)

“Men give up on the pub!”
– The Daily Mail (21st December 2011)

Pubs Are Closing Down!

This is a topic that rolls up every now and again, and one that deserves more than a cursory glance : Pubs in Britain seem to be closing at an alarming rate.

Now, you may be thinking “Yeah, so? The recession has been tough on a lot of businesses, why should the drinks industry pull special focus?” and you would be perfectly justified in that.

But the ’ol boozer does deserve special attention, for reasons I plan to go into shortly, but for now I’ll just say that it is ‘special’ because, firstly, publicans have had different obstacles and legislations to deal with in the economic downturn and, secondly, the pub stands for something a little different from your local bike shop or drainage company.

But before we get into that, I want to ask this…

Where is the Evidence?

Apart from anecdotal evidence, or the evidence of your own eyes after seeing your favourite pub close it’s doors for the last time, is there any solid proof that this is the case [well, let‘s hope so, otherwise this is going to be a short article].

Well, let’s address those headlines above: The top two both quote numbers from the same study – which you can look at yourself . These pub closure figures were commissioned by CAMRA and undertaken by CGA Strategy, over a 6 month period- September 2011 – March 2012.

From these numbers CAMRA summarised:

“…12 pubs now close across Britain every week – 8 in suburban areas, and 4 in rural areas, with the nation’s high streets showing resistance in the current economic climate.”
– “CAMRA releases new national pub closure research” by Jon Howard (30th April 2012)

The third, slightly older, headline taken from an article  by Sean Poulter in The Daily Mail  also looks at some hard numbers that seem to show a decline in pub drinking, particularly when it comes to our nations favourite, good old fashioned beer.
In it Jonny Forsyth, an analyst for Mintel [A Market research group], is quoted as saying:

“The economic downturn and rising differential between on and off trade beer and alcohol prices has hit the pub trade heavily and led to more UK consumers migrating to in home drinking.”
-Jonny Forsyth  in The Daily Mail
(21 December 2011)

So, yes, there is some hard evidence out there to support the idea that this is more than just doom-saying from a fed-up public or panic-crying from a struggling industry. Maybe not enough to say that pubs-as-we-know-them are on the brink of extinction, but enough to begin worrying.

Some of you though, are probably not worried. Perhaps you don’t drink yourself and feel you don’t care about the fate of the public house one way or another. Well allow me this one opportunity to persuade you [you may as well, since you read this far anyway].

The Importance of Pubs in History

The reason you should care is because Public Houses, as an institution, are a part of our heritage.

If you think about it, the quintessential British village or town is one that contains a church, a grocer, a post office, a school and a pub (and later on a railway station). While it is a bit old fashioned to think of towns in these terms in the modern day; it does go to show that for centuries these five things were considered essential to any working town.

You needed a church for spiritual guidance and as an official meeting place, you needed the grocer so you could buy or sell goods, you needed the post office so you could contact the outside world, you needed the school to educate your children and you needed the pub for communal guidance and as an unofficial meeting place.

We need the pub for celebrations, for condolences (after death, mourners would bury you at the church and then they would go to the pub after), for an escape from the family and some adult humour or just as a place to unwind after our toils and catch up with our friends. The pub is a vital component, even today. Some of the others on the list are expendable. Do I need a post office? Pfft… I’ve got e-mail. Do you need a church for spiritual guidance in a post enlightenment age? Perhaps not. But the pub is still essential.

Or as HistoricUK.com puts it:

“[T]he great British pub is not just a place to drink beer, wine, cider or even something a little bit stronger, it is a unique social centre, very often the focus of community life in villages, towns and cities throughout the length and breadth of the country.”
-“The Great British Pub”
HistoricUK.com

A Personal Perspective.

One of the reasons I feel so strongly about this is because I know how it feels to have a good, solid, communal pub and then loose it.

My home town is nothing special, just a couple of main roads and a load of houses packed along the edges of it’s tangled capillaries. Not so different from a lot of other small to medium sized towns with a medium to large scale populous.

One of the arteries leads down to the shopping precinct and the railway station (so our forefathers – in their wisdom – called it Station Road) the other leading across the top of the town (so our forefathers called it the High Street – for they were wise) past the church and the post office and ending at the pub that marks the boundary of our town.

It’s not a special road, in fact it is a very long road that connects many towns and threads its way though many vistas that mirror our own small section of it almost exactly.

Neither is our town in short supply of pubs. On the relatively short stretch that we call The High Street (for we too are wise) you can count at least half a dozen, and buried within the warrens of the town itself you could probably find a half dozen more – spreading the gambit from “swanky”, Weatherspoons-esque places where you can go and get a nice plate of overpriced food to horseshoe barred, former living rooms where there is barely enough room to spit in the saw-dust. Never-the-less, this pub on the boundary was special.

It was special because, back a mere 100 years ago, when my town consisted of just those two roads and the houses were all fields and orchards – there stood the church, there stood the post office and there stood the pub, in the same spot it had since at least the 1860’s, marking the border and providing its services to the town.

Now, in this age of austerity, when the town is bursting at its seems – there stands the church, in the same spot it had since the 13th Century, all-be-it with a slightly fuller graveyard, there stands the post office, modernised for our convenience, but where is the pub? Well it was closed down in 2009 and now its an Indian restaurant.

[Now, this is not about one culture supplanting another, that’s just a coincidence. Besides, I think multi-culturalism is quite a good idea if we can get it to work. We have many other Indian restaurants in town (as well as a lot of other fast food places from around the world) and they seem to do just fine after closing time. Its just a small example of one culture shaking the others hand.]

For near enough 150 years (possibly longer) a pub stood on that site – a cornerstone of the community reduced to a footnote in history almost over night (through no fault of the last proprietors, I hasten to add). But never mind all that, more importantly, it was my pub! I said we had our pick of pubs within stumbling distance and I tried them all but this was the one that I chose.

It was the one that had the best atmosphere [quiet yet lively – that‘s how I roll], it was the one I felt most comfortable in, it was the one I met my brothers in at the end of the week, it drew in the best people from around the town, a proper community pub where everyone got along and had a laugh. In short, it was the pub I thought I would drink in forever. I was gutted went it shut down, everyone was.

Its when something like that has happened, that statements like this really hit home:

“The cornerstones of traditional village life, such as the local school, the shop and the pub, are disappearing from the rural landscape at an alarming rate.”
– David Orr chief executive of the National Housing Federation Quoted in “British village life ‘dying out’ after pub closures” BBC News Uk
(18th September 2010)

Coming Soon:

In the next part, I will be looking a little deeper into why this has happened and examining some of the knock-on effects that declining pubs is having on our society.

That caps it off!!!

This is a post about the proposed benefits cap of £26000.

Now, I’m no expert in these things, numbers tend to make my head swim and, often, calculated projections are proven to be a massive waste of time, resources and (ironically) money. If you want details on that kind of thing then you are probably better off looking elsewhere.

This proposal however affects me, people around me, my community and many other people besides so, sod it, I’ll talk about it. Also, the idea of it really hacks me off and I want to get it off my chest.

Firstly, the very fact that this has been put on the table in the first place is yet another example of the ruling classes trying to offset the debt (that they made) by squeezing the poorest people in the country. It has been my contention for a long while that these policy makers are so far divorced from the impact their decisions have that they barely regard us (the poor)  as people at all and treat us rather more like “problems to be solved” or “items on a spreadsheet to be balanced.”

I feel that these policy makers should have to live directly with the results of their decisions i.e. high ranking members of the DWP should have to sign on (for a limited period) before they take the promotion. Not only should they have to suffer the “indignity” of signing on but also they must also have to live on the budget which they are prepared to advocate as an “expectable living allowance”. You watch how fast those little loopholes and discrepancies that drive people to despair  get closed up and sorted out.

Now, I don’t advocate welfare dependency and I get as angry as the next person when I discover someone has been claiming money that they don’t “need”, but this brings me to the second thing that has got me annoyed enough to start typing. The justification for this particular “solution” seems to be that it will “incentivise people and encourage them off of benefits” In a word… BULLSHIT. If you take the old adage of the carrot  and the stick, I feel this particular legislation would fall firmly into the “stick” portion of that arrangement.

Also, in the case of JSA, if it is to encourage claimants into work – it would be nice if there was some work to jump into. In the case of housing benefit, it would be nice to have some affordable housing to move into. In the case of Child Benefit, State Pensions and Disability Benefits, it’s just a matter of pride – is it not the reason we swallow the bitter tax pill (and thanks to VAT and various added duties, we ALL pay tax) so that the young, old and infirm can be taken care of? (or is that just a ridiculously old fashioned notion?)

So what are we to do about it? Well you could contact your MP. Hahahaha – I crack me up! Your MP doesn’t care about YOU – not unless you can sprinkle a few £££ under his/her nose (and if you are on benefits you are defiantly in the “expenditure” bracket of the spreadsheet and, therefore, your opinions mean nothing.)

So what are we to do about it? Well, simple, do what you are expected to do – bend over, take it and try not to cause too much of a fuss about it. Continue to pay for a situation that you likely didn’t cause and let them reduce your life to the bare minimum of existence. Allow the Orwellian steamroller to crush your aspirations while they build stadiums devoted to an expensive spectacle  of sport  and fight wars in the desert that no one can really remember why they started [“Viva Oceania!”]. Above all – remain powerless and voiceless in the face of the Ministry of Plenty (well, voiceless unless you decide to bellyache about it on the internet.)

So, in short, this post solves nothing – but then I’m not the one being paid (out of the public purse) to come up with solutions but, suffice to say, if you keep hitting people with sticks – they may eventually start hitting back. Just look at the evidence!