Espiritoart - Digital and Fine Art on Canvas

Charity Shop Challenge - The Competitors

2009-08-12T16:07:00.008+01:00

Yesterday my colleagues and I started the Charity Shop Challenge. Using an initial £1 investment we ventured out to make use of our small town's oddly large charitable retail sector - listing our purchases on eBay. The money gets reinvested in the charity shops until a ceiling is reached and whoever made the most of the charity pot - is declared the victor.

All of the items have been chosen and listed and here they are. My own, fine quality antique, is a 1973 Princess Anne Wedding Commemorative Mug. A veritable delight rendered in the highest quality enamel - which despite its 36 years of age - has not lost its sparkle, gleam and almost friendly glow. I will stop there as am in danger of hamming it up more than a pork butcher... You could be the proud owner of this piece of history - Buy 1973 Royal Wedding Heirloom

The only item to generate any interest (and a bid) is my brother's CD of 'More Dirty Dancing'. This is a collection of the songs not deemed good enough for the actual Dirty Dancing Soundtrack. Included are such gems as 'Trot the Fox' by 'Micheal Lloyd and Le Disc'. I can only hope the person buying the item intends to use it as a coaster. Should you have been recently released from an institution and wish to put in a new bid, feel free - Buy Dismal Music CD For Saddo's

The item selected by Leo can surely only be purchased by the most determined of anorak map collectors. He has asked me to point out that it is not an Ordnance Survey Map of Strathdon from 1985 as I suggested yesterday. Oh no, it is from 1976. So that is a whole nine years more useless and out of date than I thought. The listing describes it as having been 'inexpertly folded', which is actually its main selling point. If you want to buy this utterly useless item, perhaps as kindling, you can - Buy Out of Date Map of Obscure Scottish Location

I've even reserved the worst until last. Described in the listing as 'an exceptional studio pottery handmade stoneware goblet', it is in fact a grotesque horror of a lopsided pot. Quite when such items were in vogue is a mystery to me. This too can be secured a special place in your bin - Buy Two-tone Mushroom and Dung Coloured Goblet

All in all, despite their minute price tags, it is clearly only the mug that comes out with any credit. Even if the money is for charity, apart from that special royal wedding memory - I suggest you keep your cash in your pocket.

Charity Shop Challenge

2009-08-11T12:33:00.004+01:00

I have hijacked the blog today to enlist people's help in winning my Charity Shop Challenge. I spend considerable time working with out web developers in Brampton, Cumbria - and have joined their competition to turn a profit (for charity) from the shelves of the town's inexplicably large number of charity shops. The idea is that you start with a pound, search through the assorted goods in the shops and sell them on eBay for a profit. This gets reinvested in more items until a ceiling is reached - at this point the winner is declared.

I feel I made a good start with my purchase in that it only cost 40p. And here it is....

Yes, of course... It's that must have item for any household. A 1973 Royal Wedding Mug commemorating the marriage Princess Anne and Mark Phillips. Clearly this challenge is going to be well.... a challenge.

If you, like any right-minded person, long to be the owner of this exceptionally finely crafted Staffordshire ceramic delight* - please feel free to join the hordes of excited bidders on eBay - http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=280383995696

I may have a difficult task in turning a profit, but I may still win this round when I view the competition. An unmarked earthenware chalice that is either the holy grail or a mass produced, mushroom coloured monstrosity. That famous classic CD - 'More Dirty Dancing', and an ordnance survey map of the area east of Balmoral castle from about 1986.

*In truth, it's not so much of a ceramic delight... it's tat. But for less than a pound what can you do!

Parkie Life - My Days as a Park Warden

2009-07-22T12:40:00.008+01:00

I’m not sure what it was but something triggered my memory recently of my summer, ten years ago, working as a Park Warden in Carlisle. Having left university in Leeds, I came back to Cumbria and wondered what to do next. Not the obvious step, but one borne out of financial necessity, I took a job as a Parkie. It was an interesting few months stationed in a small park in a deprived part of the city.

The first alarm bells started to ring when I learned, on my first day, of the fate of my previous incumbent. My predecessor was a trainee Vicar who was awaiting a posting in a parish, and was working in the park to keep himself going until then. The vicar had decided on a zero tolerance policy to antisocial behaviour from the local youths in the park. Consequently they felt he’d pushed them too far and pursued him to his Parkie’s Hut and, having barricading him inside, preceded to set fire to it. Not the news I wanted to hear on day one….

And so I settled into my varied and unusual tasks. First job was to get the thick rubber gloves out and check the kiddies playpark for needles, nice. Then, off to feed broken biscuits from the McVities factory to the swans (those that had escaped a recent shooting incident). I’d then patrol the park several times a day, trying to make sure if there was any trouble – I’d be on the completely opposite side.

My attitude to the chav element was completely different to the man of the cloth. My philosophy was born out my being a complete physical coward. So as much as I could, I made friends with them. This approach had seen me avoid any ‘Parkie Burnings’ for quite some time when the laxness of my discipline really hit home…

One normal summer morning I emerged from my hut having heard screeching tyres and an engine doing a lot of work. To my surprise, an old car was being driven about on the grass at high speed, doing handbreak turns and the like. I got on the radio and got my boss to call the police and headed over to the vehicle (not without a whimper!). The car had stopped in the car park and when I arrived, the local teenagers were sitting in it. It transpired they’d clubbed together and bought the motor at a scrap yard.

‘Fancy a spin Parkie?’ one shouted. Several more cajoling cries came as I was encouraged to take my own joyride. Clearly, I was not the fear-inspiring Park Keeper my superiors would have wanted in the post! ‘No I can’t’ I replied. ‘One of the miserable gits in the houses next to the park have called the police, I’ve just been told on the radio’. As they readied themselves to escape, they all politely said ‘thanks Parkie!’ And off they went.

I’m not proud of this approach, but I stayed alive and nobody got set on fire on my watch. I wasn’t about to risk life and limb for £3.50 an hour. I knew the police would be coming and I knew I’d get the ‘blame’ for it, so I made it clear it wasn’t me (when it was) and let them get away with it. I had several more weeks to go and wanted to get out the other side. A poor show though really, when all is considered.

After a few weeks the season was coming to a close and I was moved to the city’s central, much more pleasant park. I was to work with the Vicar, who had been moved to this location after the ‘pyro-parkie’ incident. I also worked with Tony, a stocky man who would inspire fear in the Taliban, never mind any park-dwelling undesirables. This seemed a much more agreeable place of work, as I stepped in to sell ice-cream from the kiosk when it got busy and strolled around the manicured flower beds for the rest of the day. That was until Tony gave me a new assignment.

It appeared that a public toilet between the park and the athletics track was a frequent haunt of men who liked to meet up to engage in sexual activity with each other. While I am liberal sort of man, this really shouldn’t be going on on weekday afternoons next to a sporting facility used by children. (Incidentally, the athletics track was – appropriately for Cumbria – called The Sheepmount). Tony required my daily assistance in an operation he called ‘flushing’.

My job was to drive the council van to the toilets, after which Tony would leap out, run in and shout very loudly some not very nice words. Usually several characters would then scurry out of the door looking abashed and headed to their cars in haste. Tony would then come back to the van and deposit a range of reading material that these gentlemen seemed to like. ‘Big Boys in Boots’ was one title if I recall correctly.

Shortly after one of these trips, we all gathered to give our best wishes to the Vicar who was off to a small village in Surrey, having finally been given his parish. As we waved him off Tony revealed the ‘joke’ he had played on him. Having borrowed his car keys, Tony had stashed a selection of the previously mentioned magazines under the spare tyre in the Vicar’s boot. I truly hope they were discovered by the Vicar himself – but can’t help worrying that a mechanic in a rural Surrey village garage came across them a few weeks later when doing an MoT. Imagine the scandal.

Twitter Support is Not Very Good (Putting it Lightly...)

2009-07-07T22:11:00.003+01:00

I like Twitter, I really do. I have a little bug at the moment, which while not major - is causing me a small problem. Unfortunately, Twitter's support service is not very supportive. I started off being very nice, but in my last message to them I started to let my irritation show a little. Here it is: -

Case numbers 417819, 415342 and 416867. They are not resolved. I tell you the problem, you close the issue down with no action. There seems to be a pattern here. So... what happens is, here is a new request, which you will doubtless close down without any action.

I cannot permanently save changes to my profile because my link text is not in hex format. I cannot access the design area to change this.

I have to keep repeating this and my requests just get closed. I'm just going to keep sending them so wouldn't it be more sensible to actually fix the problem (or at least tell me it can't be done?). Your own text says multiple requests slow things down, but I currently have no alternative. The information says I can reopen an old request, but that doesn't work - unless some sprightly support operative is employed solely to monitor your inbox and immediately close a support ticket as soon as the button is pressed?

Please could you urgently ignore my fourth request to do something about this. I shall be hanging on tenterhooks just waiting for the next time you can 'resolve' my issue by just pretending I never asked.

I'm aware Twitter is a free service and I'm very grateful for that. I wouldn't mind if I got a response saying 'can't be done at this time', or, 'we're aware and we're working on it, but it may take a while'. To be quite honest, just a reply saying 'stop bothering us you sarcastic turd' would be a step forward.

My profile currently says I'm horrified at being 31. All I want to do is change that as I've no turned 32. I fully expect to still be waiting when I'm 33.

I doubt whether this will have any effect, but I can only hope....

The Game of Why

2009-06-17T22:10:00.008+01:00

I am carrying my daughter on my shoulders on the way to wherever. This arrangement, known as 'the giraffe', is her current favourite mode of transport. For her, unrivalled views. For me, backache coupled with a certain fatherly pleasure.

My daughter is nearly four, an age where she is no longer three but 'nearly four', as she will respond if asked her age. On this giraffe-day I ask why she has to occupy every second of the trip with a game of some sort. This can be the game where she jerkily crouches on my shoulders at the last second to avoid low branches, while shouting 'Doh!'. There's the one where she trails her hand through hedges and cries 'Ow, that prickles!'. And then of course the all time number one. Providing me with a form of Indian head massage to transfer to my scalp whatever it is that has made her hands sticky that day.

I have made the mistake of mentioning the word 'why', a child's favourite word. This prompts a host of reciprical questions, all of which when answered will draw another 'why' response from her.

I try and put an end to this barrage, adding all the weight of my 31 years, work experience and education. I ask why she always has to know everything works - literally from the birds to the bees. I ask her why she has to know the reason it isn't wrong to swat a fly, but it is to swat a butterfly (with a 'swyflotter').

Before she has chance to answer I unleash a fresh wave of attacks in this playful battle. I ask her what it is that makes her want to explore and investigate the smallest and largest things. I go so far as to ask 'why are you a girl who seeks answers to the metaphysical connundra that have plagued mankind since time began?'.

After this onslaught she pauses. 'Do you mean why am I a girl who asks why a lot?'. It is exactly what I mean, and I am beaten again!

Is it me? (No)

2009-06-16T09:01:00.006+01:00

I haven’t blogged for a little while because I’ve had a bit of a bad run at it. I haven’t felt in the mood and instead I’ve found solace in a whisky or two and a beer or three. I have of course found some time to twitter with my newly assembled rag-tag of a family, who never fail to raise a smile. Although the reference to the little girl on BGT - ‘she was crying like she had just met Garry glitter in a shower’ was pretty near the knuckle.

I'm sure like me - you‘ve been here too. Down on your luck with the world against you. Fighting an inner turmoil to contain your soul-destroying disillusionment with life’s twists and turns. A sickening debilitating bolt that electrifies the butterflies in the stomach and heats the mind to a pressure cooker on the point of combustion. And an ensuing sleep deprivation which hoards any semblance of the bodies mandatory equilibrium requirement.

Intense I know but it hasn’t been one of my better months, a May-day ground-hog but I’m not on the Tyne Bridge just yet. Here lies the beauty of blogging. An opportunity to vent angst - and I wonder why it’s taken me so long.

You see, my real issue here lies with other people - the ones who fate has decreed I tread the same path. People with a ‘Me’ agenda , so consumed by self justification and self importance that they discard the very rudiments of civility. Why?

Is it so impossible to work for the common good and help each other when
you’ve walked along the same path many, many years. Failure to attempt it is surely bad enough, yet to deliberately embark on a destructive programme and galvanise others to do the same is something I find hard to comprehend. It is something I hope I would never subscribe to.

Surely these people can see that such strategy breeds only contempt and a severing of relations, prohibitive to everyone and everything. There seems to be so many people I don’t like at the moment, I have had to ask myself if it’s me that’s the problem? I’ve thought about that and concluded NO.

(Editor's note - this article is by Espiritoart-Andy, I have to upload them for him and used my login not his! Matt).

50 More Moans, Whines & Whinges

2009-05-20T13:43:00.011+01:00

If anyone has seen this before they may have read a previous article where I got 50 things that irritated me off my chest. I swore that once I'd purged myself of these, I'd turn to a life with a positive outlook. I lied.

If you want to read the original 50 - click here.

51) I wonder if the hair product company assignment is a real taboo in the world of advertising executives – meaning only those who have fallen upon hard times would ever consider creating TV commercials for them. From ‘Here come the science bit’ onwards, they are truly the graveyard of advertising creativity.

52) The European Union. Go in it properly or not at all. At present we appear to reap none of the rewards of membership and none of the advantages of independence from it. The fence-sitting position adopted by the United Kingdom gives the worst of both worlds.

53) I saw a feature on TV recently about the BNP, where people were interviewed on the streets of Carlisle, where I grew up. One angry punter declared ‘I’ll vote for them as we’re overrun by illegal immigrants!’ This in a city where the ethnic origin of over 95% of residents is white-British.

54) No matter how hard I try, unlike Tory MP Douglas Hogg– I can’t get anyone to pick up the tab to clean my moat. In fact, it is now so overcrowded with weeds that some are threatening to spread as far as my portcullis.

55) People who complain about wind farms being located in their area on the grounds that they will spoil the landscape. What will the landscape be like if the ice caps melt? Or the oil ran out and the ensuing chaos that would ensue?

56) Wafers. I can’t stand these little dry segments of wood chippings and cardboard that infiltrate your ice cream. A hot day, a refreshing ice cream is consumed and then you eat the cone and need another one because it dried your mouth out as if you’d guzzled a bucket of sand.

57) What possesses the manufacturers of clothes to place an itchy, synthetic label on their garment solely to make the back of your neck itch. Is that really the best system they could come up with.

58) I don’t understand the fuss about David Tennant. As an actor seems a bit hammy to me. And as an object of lust by huge numbers of people? When was weedy oddball elected as a good look?

59) I’ve started to order Shandy.

60) A number of times in North Wales, in shops and public places people have switched their language from English to Welsh when I walked in. Not very welcoming for a visitor.

61) People who, in public, choose to finish a bag of crisps by opening their mouth and tilting back their heads, before draining the remaining crumbs into their maw.

62) In many commercial art galleries you can see Jackson-Pollock inspired abstract paintings. Being the 10,000th person to ape this style is so far from original it’s untrue. But there they hang.

63) In England, if you have an interest in football you will constantly hear the call that ‘foreigners are stifling English talent’. There are more foreign players as a percentage in Italy, but they are world champions. Why don’t our young players move abroad to get games like people in every other nation.

64) Blackpool is seedy, filthy and full of drunken undesirables. Yet it is the second most visited tourist destination in Europe. After the Vatican. Not only that, but I inexplicably like it.

65) Whatever Jonathan Ross’s other qualities, he is always unerringly generous towards his guests. He never fails to ‘love’ the actor’s latest film or artist’s new album. Even if that means praising Scooby Doo 2.

66) Britain is well blessed with counters. Enter a bank or post office and you’ll see a wealth of shiny glass and little signs saying ‘position closed’ in all but two of the windows. Note – it is in all but one of the windows at lunchtimes when you actually need to use it.

67) I can’t stand dirty newsprint. I don’t mean the articles in the Daily Sport but newspapers like the Newcastle Evening Chronicle. This leaves your hands jet black, perhaps to remind residents of the northeast of their coalmining heritage.

68) Do you remember Neil Kinnock’s incredibly embarrassing ‘We’re Aaaaalright!’ speech at the Sheffield Rally in 1992? If you don’t you are lucky and will have saved yourself some cringing.

69) Why are trainspotters so vilified? I’ll clarify that I’m not one and never have been. But it’s a shame that happyslapping is not more taboo than ticking off which trains you’ve seen.

70) I recently read some graffiti which said ‘If you can read this you’re gay’. So the author is clearly in admiration of people who are both straight and illiterate.

71) Why does my spam filter allow ’77 Hot Lovemaking Tips' through, but quarantines an e-mail from the gallery we’re exhibiting in providing feedback on visitor numbers.

72 ) For 13 months in a row, my virus checking programme has performed a full system scan. In each of these 13 months it has found 1 item that needs attention. Never 0 or 2, but always 1. I wonder if this is pre-programmed to occur in order to encourage me to continue my subscription.

73) Something very specific to the area I’m from and consequently of little interest to anyone else. I’m from part of Cumbria that falls into the 66% of the county that isn’t within the Lake District. Cumbria Tourism’s official website? Golakes.co.uk. Nice to see a holistic view of the county’s needs from the authorities.

74) There is something seriously wrong with food labelling. I saw a poster for coco pops which advertised it having ‘no artificial colours’. This suggests it is healthy, yet it’s packed with sugar and probably preservatives and sweeteners too. What next? Arsenic coming in a bottle with ‘less than 5% fat’?

75) When I worked in an office, I had to come in when I was ill as we were so busy. If I happened to sneeze inadvertently I would get ‘manflu’ jibes. In that same office, some of the women would ring in sick every time they had a sniffle. But it was me who got the stick.

76) William Hague earns a fortune from after dinner speaking. I have no issue with the money. But, if he spoke to me about the secret of eternal life I still think I’d have to smack him and shut him up before he revealed the answer.

77) There are a great many fashions I don’t understand, but most of these pass me by without a second thought. But that isn’t the case with Ugg boots. Why do people want to walk round with footwear than makes them look like an elf from Lord of the Rings.

78) Alcohol is a clever poison. The damage it causes to the brain removes the memory of how you felt the last time you had a hangover and swore ‘never again’.

79) When I went to Leeds to go to university, it should have been a sexual awakening and permanent party. However, for the first year I insisted on sporting lank long hair and a Mexican poncho. Unsurprisingly it didn’t quite work out as planned.

80) Is it the pace of modern life that won’t allow my brain to relax for a second. Even when I recently tried to relax by having a walk along the beach I created a ‘World stone-skimming championships’, allocating different countries to each throw and keeping score.

81) I worked for a bank, a failed one. I was once asked by a colleague how many zeroes there were in 90,000. I was made redundant and she remains there to this day.

82) Stephen Mulhern, host of Britain’s Got More Talent and The Planet’s Funniest Animals. This man takes smugness to levels only previously seen in Care Bears.

83) DVD extras annoy me. They provide a long list including such gems as ‘the original trailer’ and a ‘still photo archive’. Great, so an advert for the film I’ve just bought and a series of pics I could have seen anyway if I just used the pause button.

84) I tried to grow a beard at the age of 18 and failed miserably. I only discovered I could grow a proper one after trying again ten years on. It will always be a regret of mine, thinking how many unnecessarily beardless years I went through.

85) It amazes me just how angry people can get at individual representatives of companies. I worked as a Complaints Manager and had death threats and suggestions that I should hang because of the bank’s actions. That sort of rage requires therapy.

86) There is a lot of moaning about ‘The PC Brigade’, but much of this mythical legion’s initiatives have been vital in educating people about minorities of all kinds. However, they went too far with claiming people who suffer from epilepsy would be offended by the word ‘brainstorm’. Try as I might I am unable to use ‘thought shower’ as an alternative.

87) When my daughter was ill recently I went to the chemist with her prescription for Penicillin. I had to wait for an hour, returned and was told they didn’t have any. My annoyance that the substance that was the foundation of modern medicine was lacking didn’t go down well. Neither did my indignant claim that I would go home and get my own by leaving some bread to go mouldy.

88) We expect young people to have an idea of what they want to do with their lives at the age of 15 when they choose their A levels. I still don’t know now. But the options I took, all sciences, led to three miserable years studying Pharmacology at University.

89) Following on from the previous moan, during that course I was invited by the lab technician to witness how they prepared the Guinea Pigs for experimentation (well bits of them anyway). I expected some miniature gas mask or at worst an injection. Instead, with undisguised zeal, the woman tickled the creature under the chin and then clobbered it against the side of a desk. That put me off for good.

90) Management speak is not only irritating, it creeps into your vocabulary without you having any control over it. Yes, I too have ‘reinvented the wheel’.

91) When you use social networking sites and read people’s biographies, half will say ‘goat herder, florist, ukulele monster and shoe polisher – but not necessarily in that order’. Well, not the first bits but the part about the order. It doesn’t annoy me in itself – I just wonder how this became the staple statement for millions of people.

92) I feel no admiration for manufacturers of crisps when they say their products use sunflower oil and now contain far less fat than they used to. It irritates me that for so long they were happy to use worse fats for so many years just because they saved 10 pence per million litres they purchased over the healthier version.

93) I can’t manage gyms. I love exercising but only if there’s a ball involved. I need to go really, but I feel like I’m one of a number of hamsters in their wheels.

94) Since they brought the smoking ban in, you realise just how horrible the average nightclub smells. The smoking ban has had no effect on improving the sticky carpets though.

95) I never know what all these ROFLMAO and PMSL things are and have to frequent a dictionary site for people like me who are clearly behind the times.

96) I am annoyed that Bill Bryson wrote ‘Notes from a Small Island’. He has a similar (but better) writing style and has written the book I wanted to.

97) I sometimes finish off a night out with a chicken kebab, purely for the red cabbage. I’ll go those extremes for a raw red cabbage but have never bought one in the supermarket.

98) Why should we feel and fear shame when getting on a bus if we have the temerity to try and pay the fare with a note.

99) It’s not an issue that preys on my mind too often but why on earth did circumcision catch on? Just who decided to give it a try and why weren’t they instantly locked away.

100) I await the day with trepidation when I cease to find farting funny.

You're welcome to add your own below!

A Naïve View of the MP's Expenses Row

2009-05-14T10:52:00.011+01:00

Switch on the television or open a newspaper anywhere in the UK at the moment and you will be unable to avoid the ongoing scandal about Members of Parliament making false, excessive or frivolous claims on expenses at the public's cost. No party appears to be immune, although those not in power are still managing to make some political capital out of the situation - by criticising Gordon Brown for allowing a system so open to abuse to exist.

Anyone not calling this the biggest scandal of our times is denounced by the press as being naïve. I am just not that bothered, so call me naïve too.

In the letters pages of those newspapers and radio phone-ins, there does seem to be a general anger about these issues. I wonder whether this does reflect the mood of the nation, or these are just the minority who are bothered enough to write or ring in? Certainly I can't describe my own emotions as approaching anger. I have a form of self-satisfaction that my rampant cynicism in our political system appears to be justified. Of course that isn't constructive in any way. I take my place alongside the millions of others happy to have a pop while not offering any alternative view or participating myself.

Another thing I've derived from the events is amusement. While there was plenty of skulduggery from Labour and Liberal MPs, who cannot be absolved, it fell to the Conservatives to make the story genuinely entertaining. Michael Ancram, Stewart Jackson and James Arbuthnot all claimed expenses to clean or repair their swimming pools. David Davis for work on his paddocks. Michael Spicer for gardening at his Manor House (I'll forgive him the expenses for his helipad - safety can't be compromised!). Michael Gove bought lots of furnishings from David Cameron's mother in law. Best of all Douglas Hogg, who claimed to have his moat cleaned! His moat!

It hasn't escaped me that all of these exotic claims came from representatives of a party that not long ago made huge calls for a change in political culture in Downing Street. Not without merit but perhaps there is a need to get their own house in order. (And by that I don't mean by claiming for housekeepers...). All the same, I'm not angry. It needs to be sorted out, I agree. But I think there are so many more important things that need the air-time this endless debate is taking up.

Actor and writer Stephen Fry has come under fire for suggesting that the expenses debate is not that important. It appears that he was unhappy that the press concentrated on the issue so much, when journalists are famous for expenses claim ingenuity. This has not been a popular viewpoint with the press, surprise surprise! I agree to an extent, not because of any hypocrisy on the part of journalists but simply because the amounts of money concerned are trifling compared to spending in other areas.

£20 billion on American built nuclear submarines. You could clear 100,000 moats with that.

Au Revoir Chelsea

2009-05-06T22:09:00.010+01:00

Unusually with this blog, I am on the button, on the pulse. I am writing an article on a subject at the time it happens, rather than the usual wait to digest the news over a period of several days. Possibly the only subject in my repertoire I am able to do this with, is football.

Tonight I have witnessed an appalling performance by a Norwegian referee in the UEFA Champions League semi final. The result was that Chelsea were eliminated from the competition at the hands of Barcelona. It is easy after a football match to be reactionary, particularly when one key decision swings a game. But what compels me to put finger to keyboard in this case is that four key decisions turned the game against the English club. Four penalty decisions dismissed.

Yes, Chelsea should have won by putting away their chances or making more of their 1 man advantage after the sending off of Barcelona's Abidal. But some form of investigation should be carried out into the performance of the referee. The problem being, that investigation would have to be carried out by UEFA. And if any bias was given against the English side, this would have been placed on his shoulders by that very body.

Michel Platini, a legendary French superstar is the president of UEFA and could not nailed his flag more firmly to the anti-English club mast. He sang along with Barcelona fans in the first leg. He stated that English clubs were cheating because of their debt levels (Real Madrid are hugely in debt, but English clubs are cheating?). He said that Euro 2008 was better off without England. He has criticised Manchester City for making a huge offer for a player but encouraged Cristiano Ronaldo to move to Real Madrid for another huge transfer. He has criticised the competitiveness of the English Premiership, while ignoring the fact that Lyon have won the title 7 years in a row.

I will just point out that I don't support Chelsea. In fact, although I support English clubs in Europe, I have no affinity for them whatsoever. I support my home town club, Carlisle United (you may now snigger). My rant is nothing to do with the club itself.

Suggesting a conspiracy is ridiculous. But what else is there?

Twenty10 Election Turmoil

2009-05-06T18:53:00.011+01:00

I’ll apologise to myself later and to you now but I’m afraid Gordon’s stumbling month has led me to stray in to the murky world of politics. What a performance from the big man! Refusing to say sorry for his trusted aide's devilish attempt to discredit some Tories with naughty playground rumours. Refusing to recognise his very own hand on the wheel which slammed our economy so hard against the rocks - we’re taking on more water than the titanic and we all know what happened there. Refusing to recognise the sacrifices Gurkhas have made in the name of our country. Refusing to address his ‘embattled’ home secretaries' inadequacies and of course refusing to sort out MP’s expenses as an entire population demanded.

There’s a common theme here. He doesn’t seem to do very much apart from bumble his way from crisis to crisis, perhaps working on the premise that if ‘we F*** something else up, then people will forget about this one’. All of this leaves me with a problem as big as his. Who to vote for next year? You see I’ve never adopted a colour, I’m what’s known as a ‘floater’- someone who’ll come ashore which ever way the wind is blowing strongest (as long as I‘m not aboard the good ship Gordon, in which case my inability to swim will likely be the death of me). If I am voting - I’ll vote for two main reasons:-

1) the party offering the most policies and vision I agree with.

2) the figurehead of that party - it has to be someone if not who you can put your faith in, then who you feel at least won’t embarrass us and will only let us down a lot, not completely.

This ideology provides me with a very real problem come next year. I didn’t vote last time round and felt a guilty irresponsibility because of it.…… I would have voted labour again as Howard was simply unelectable, a Kinnock of our times. I didn’t because principally I disagreed so strongly with the Iraq war. If any other country, say Russia or Iran had waged war against the international community's wishes - I’d speculate that the ramifications would have seen them fighting two wars not one. The fact that we know now there was no justification whatsoever - hardly helps the hundreds of thousands of dead Iraqis and coalition soldiers, or the millions of lives left shattered.

Back to the now and I think we’ve all had enough of this labouring ramshackle government, or at least the man at the helm. But the viable blue alternative serves up a policyless (new word???) goldfish of a man who is weaker than a Tetley teabag in a bath. He’ll denounce whatever the current hot-topic labour is inevitably struggling with and take the populist opposite without ever formulating a genuine policy of his own. Have I mentioned Kinnock ???? He’s certainly not a man to lead our country or go toe to toe with the mighty Obama now is he!

As I sign-off, I’ve allowed myself to chuckle again at those attempts to make discrediting rumours up. I mean come on, from educated grown men -it’s ridiculous. I was talking about it with my friend the other day and whilst we laughed - he did in general tend to agree with my current take on things. Interestingly, he also told me he had heard Gordon decided against sacking Jacqui in case she exposed the phone call he had made to her husband to get the number for that channel.

50 Moans, Whines and Whinges of the Modern Englishman

2009-04-30T14:35:00.014+01:00

The more I've written in this blog, the more I've moaned about things. In fact, it has almost become therapeutic to voice the series of minor things that appear to irritate me immensely. If there is one thing English people are good at, it is moaning. We are famous for it the world over. Americans might call us whinging limeys, and Australians moaning poms. Our reputation as complainers is well earned, although for such an obese nation, perhaps the fruit references are a bit outdated in those particular insults.

All of my moaning has got me thinking that perhaps a change of outlook is required. Less cynicism and more sunshine. (As a cynic, that last sentence has just made me cringe). Its something that I want to try anyway. But not before I get this lot off my chest.....

1) Hangovers. They just get worse as you get older. Once upon a time you could drink a huge amount, be sick on your white jeans and be up in time for breakfast (ok, the white jeans were a mistake). Once you get to 30, you're stuck with a hangover for two days, with an unhealthy dose of paranoia thrown in.

2) The insistence of everyone involved in business on the web to create unique terminology for absolutely everything they do annoys me immensely. Every day, a new term is created and people like me have to look them up. Well, I've got news for you, tech-speak creators. I know what WYSIWYG is now, and saying 'wizzywig' just makes you sound like idiots.

3) Is it necessary that every car driver has to drive the same roads they do every day at half speed every time it rains. The road is a bit wet, that's all. In a 30 mile an hour zone, even if the road is wet you aren't going to spin off the road if you approach the speed limit.

4) Search Engine Optimisation specialists. There are so many of you and plenty haven't got a clue. Until you find some way to distinguish yourself as one of the 'good ones', you will never get any business from me.

5) I understand the purpose of nasal hair. But when you get to a certain age, is there any need for it to grow at such a rate. If you don't watch out you could be waiting 20 minutes for a bus, and by the time it arrives you trip over it. (Yes, the nose hair, not the bus).

6) I wish the BBC would note that if they do a news article from Newcastle Upon Tyne, it is not necessary to play 'Fog on the Tyne' in a patronising fashion.

7) Changing the bedsheets is the only activity that requires more energy than climbing Everest. There must be a way to do it that doesn't leave my arms aching in agony when I attempt the duvet cover.

8) Spammers should note that inviting me to a 'webinar' will never, ever, ever be successful. The very word induces nausea.

9) UK Planning Departments have no plan in 99% of cases. Manchester's skyline has buildings in every architectural style ever devised by humans for example.

10) Every day a new foodstuff, drink or activity is declared as being damaging to your health. There is nothing left for anyone to eat! If it continues and everyone follows the advice, cancer will be eradicated but everyone will starve to death.

11) If psychics had the powers they claimed to, surely they would be able to contribute to society more than a small advert for a premium rate phone number in the back of a magazine.

12) Ghurkas, Nepalese soldiers who fight in the British Services cannot settle in the UK after their service. What annoys me more than anything is that the Labour party could have made a decision that would have been universally popular (their first for a long time), and they take the opposite view.

13) If you drive a Volvo like me you can't switch the headlights off. As a consequence you have to replace the bulbs every six weeks.

14) The only epidemic we are likely to have is Swine Flu Fever. This infects people who have a cold and recently ate burritos in a Mexican restaurant chain. There is no need for people to be wearing masks. Unless visiting Middlesborough. Face it, the only really at-risk group are Danish perverts (obscure joke there).

15) People on the internet who list themselves as 'Web Evangalists'. Tossers.

16) Hardly a unique moan, but driving a huge 4x4 in the city is stupid. It costs more, is more difficult to drive and pollutes more. Not rocket science.

17) If you get on a train and sit at a table in the UK, you will be joined by three people who talk loudly, eat smelly foods, drink booze, use their mobile phones all the time or simply smell. It is the law. Only one person per carriage is allowed to just sit quietly or read a book.

18) Internet people again. There is no such word as 'Mompreneur'.

19) Footballers being interviewed are so predictable and boring they may as well just record one at the beginning of the season and repeat it after each match. Days of any personality are over. You'll not get Ron Atkinson's great quote again - 'I never criticise referees and I'm not going to make an exception for that prat'.

20) Is there any need for the Glade air freshener advert where the irritating little boy shouts 'Muuuuuum, I need to do a poo!', over and over.

21) The conservative party are about to be elected by default, without explaining a single policy.

22) As a supporter of Carlisle United, away supporters singing '...just a small town in Scotland' is very boring, you all do it. And as for 'sheep, sheep, sheepshaggers', yes we know. We invented it.

23) My local supermarket doesn't stock the guardian, but does sell the weekly newspaper entitled, 'Cage and Aviary Bird News'.

24) The national lottery has not afforded me a single £10 win in 12 years. That is not good value.

25) At school it used to irritate when a fellow pupil would ask what was in my sandwiches and say 'Uuuuurrgh, tomato', or whatever was in it. But people, grown up people, still do it! Have you nothing better to do than criticise my choice of sandwich filling?

26) I cannot deal with people with no sense of humour, they totally disarm me and leave me gibbering and trying to crack jokes. This person is usually your boss.

27) Famous people who say 'I could never work a 9 to 5 job'. Insensitive idiots. It is called making a living for the majority, there isn't really a choice.

28) Web people (who feature a lot!). Don't describe yourself as 'ideas energisers'.

29) Do you remember when CDs came out and we were told they were virtually indestructible. Obviously the scientists who made these claims must have omitted certain things from their tests. Like playing them, or picking them up.

30) I've worked out that if a man needs 2,500 calories a day, the amount of calories you burn in an hour of the gym would suggest you've only just exceeded the amount you'd have burned if you just sat down instead.

31) I've often heard Americans say of the British, 'we saved your ass in WWII'. Perhaps if an earlier entry into a conflict against the world's most evil regime had been effected, millions of people would not have died. Just a thought.

32) A Scottish National Party official recently said that Scotland had been dragged into a recession by England. RBS and HBOS bailed out. Guess what the 'S' stands for in both of those.

33) Domino's Pizza looks revolting, tastes revolting and costs more than a good meal in a restaurant. How is that business model successful?

34) People wouldn't illegally download movies if it didn't require a second mortgage to get into a cinema.

35) Could I be bald or not bald. Is it necessary for me to look at the same time like a monk and someone with a map of the Isle of Wight on their forehead.

36) When I worked for a bank, somebody once rang in sick saying they'd run so fast on the treadmill they'd worn all the skin off their feet.

37) On a half full Easyjet flight, people will still sprint to get on the plane first, despite there being enough room for everyone to have their own row of seats.

38) There is a reason most Chinese buffet restaurants are patronised by more English people than Chinese. The Chinese people all eat in restaurants where the food is edible.

39) People who say that football is just 11 men chasing a ball about. Surely there must be something more to the world's most popular sport. And anyway, technically it is 22 men chasing a ball about.

40) British society dictates that if you drink red wine, go for meals with another man or like clothes you are gay. Call me Graham Norton then.

41) Critics of the new tax rate for top earners say it will cause a talent drain from the financial sector, the UK's biggest earning industry. The second biggest is Higher Education and research. Maybe the talent will move into this sector, meaning they'll be creating knowledge, rather than their own profits.

42) Simon Cowell's trousers are not newsworthy enough to take up column inches in the newspapers with the largest circulation in the UK.

43) I was informed by a former colleague that HD television was 'better than your own eyes'. Is it wrong to want to attack such people?

44) Everyone, including charities refers to the credit crunch in their marketing. Why constantly remind people of the fact when most will be unaffected, while simultaneously trying to get them to give you money. Buy from us and beat the credit crunch? Nonsensical.

45) Food labelling is ridiculous. I wouldn't be surprised to see 'free from artificial flavourings' displayed on rat poison in the future.

46) I could buy the best album of all time and I would listen to it over and over until I ruin it because I have overdone it.

47) Being English, why do I still turn a crimson red of shame when recalling the most minor embarrassing social situations. Things that happened ten years ago or more that everyone else will have forgotten about?

48) You can put a man on the moon, but you can't create a cordless phone that doesn't have more interference than Garry Glitter at a school disco.

49) When writing a blog and creating a list, you choose a number of things that you are going to cover. In this case, 50. But by the time you get close, you can't think of anything. If I had called this the 1 moan, rather than the 50 moans, I'd have got writers block before I'd started.

50) In approximately 50% of pubs I've been in in my life, you have been able to smell the toilets while standing at the bar. That is just wrong.

That is it, I'm a new man. All my bitterness has gone. If you've got this far, please feel free to add your own in the comments below!

Blame The Parents

2009-04-27T15:14:00.002+01:00

Opening the paper a couple of weeks ago, I looked at the tale of the awful news from Edlington, South Yorkshire. The torture of two little boys, by two little boys was a harrowing read and is a story I have subsequently gone out of my way to avoid. Just what on earth can possess two children of 11 to even contemplate such sadistic thoughts, let alone get their hands on weapons and then carry out a shocking mutilation? If I was anything to go by - they should be stopping their bicycles at lampposts and waiting for an imaginary passenger to climb on board before speeding off humming engine noises.

Thankfully, such incidents are indeed rare and I’m by no means lamenting the end of an age of childhood innocence. Unfortunately though, robbery, violence and disorder in adults is not rare and it got me thinking why it’s ended up this way.

Sure society has always had its problems but it never used to be this bad, did it? Turn back half a century or so to the post-war 50’s and such serious crimes and anti-social behaviour were much rarer. That's not to say they didn’t happen. There were some horrific crimes in the decade prior to the civil rights movement and society was a grotesque racism-riddled world away from the multiculturalism we enjoy today.

So whilst we can thank the 1960’s adolescents for a freedom and liberalism and an acceptance of individuals as equals. To that generation we can perhaps attribute the blame for many of society’s problems that we now contend with. The undoubted slackening of peoples tolerances to unsociable behaviour coupled with a desire to be experimental. This brought drugs, alcohol, sex and crime in to the mainstream. What was unacceptable a decade previously could now be tolerated in a summer of love drug-in. A summer which was always only one bad trip away from turning to disaster as drugs manifested in and then bent people’s minds.

It was a decade for good and bad that literally did change our world for ever as much as any other. No longer would rock bands line up in suits like an early Beatles. No longer would rock stars have to lie about taking drugs when they could instead make them cool. No longer would songs be banished from radio for their drug references (which admittedly would be a travesty for those such as Lucy in the Sky with Diamond or the Byrds – 8 mile High). Nor indeed would it be considered anything but sociable to sit around drinking in fields all day listening to such music.

The youth wanted freedom and they made sure they got it. Suddenly with this seismic shift in the consciousnesses of society, the 60’s turned in to the 70’s and the new generation heralded in an era of punk that made violence cool. Violence cast an ever-reaching shadow over society, plaguing the simplest of pleasures from late night walks to going to football matches. Long gone were the days of leaving doors unlocked overnight or a society where each knew their neighbour, or where murders generally were headline news.

So for my 30-something generation - we can absolutely blame the parents. Mind you they did make cracking music which would have probably been un-experimental repetitive dirge, were it not for those blessed mind-bending drugs!

5 Things That Are, Well... Things

2009-04-24T10:18:00.008+01:00

There sometimes comes a time in this blog where I can't think of a subject weighty enough to fill an entry up on its own. That isn't to say many of my previous writings were on noble, worthy subjects that warranted my amateurish treatment; but at least they offered me the chance to get past a few sentences. Usually at these times my co-writer and business partner Andy takes up the slack with his own, often sweary blogs. And then there are times like these, when neither of us has a great deal to say. It then falls to me to resort to listing a number of minor points, in essence the first things that pop into my balding head.

I read somewhere it was a good idea to include lists in your blog, as these prove popular with visitors. Having no overriding theme to link together such a list, I have simply opted to talk about five things that are, er... things. And so, in particular order of interest or relevance: -

1) Druridge Bay, Northumberland

I've written the pre-amble above in one fluid motion. Your experience reading this will be seamless, unlike my efforts in writing it. A full 30 minutes have elapsed between the end of the introduction and the first point, not the best start. Already I'm thinking of changing the number of points from five to three... The one saving grace is that as I write I am sitting on several miles of golden sand on the Northumberland coast. Not all at once you understand, my arse isn't that big.

Quite why, on a warm sunny day, I am one of about twenty people on a beach that stretches for several miles is a puzzle. And why, of these twenty, seven have chosen to set up camp right next to me and boot a football around inches from my head is also confusing. Over half a million people live within an hour of this beautiful coastline, yet it is all but deserted.

The Northumberland coast is undervisited, beautiful and accessible. With miles of sand, studded with coastal castles and small market towns, it truly is a gorgeous part of the world. But hang on, my beach companions have unleashed a crate of Stella Artois. This is England.

2) New World Wine

Being an Englishman it is my wont to drift into a diatribe of moaning. Whether I'm at a sun drenched beauty spot or not. My focus of this rant is the penchant in this country to embrace the wines of Australia and New Zealand with such passion. Call your new wine Kookaburra Ridge Mountain or Wombat Creek and you'll be guaranteed sales. But for the most part they are awful, and I've tried a lot. Perhaps there are a good deal of complex, light and fruity wines that hail from these countries. But they don't make it here.

I read once that in the UK, a survey was carried out which asked the public to sample and give a preference for several red wines. The unanimous winner was sweet white Liebfraumilch mixed with red food colouring. Obviously the tasters didn't know what they were drinking, but that was their favourite. Seemingly the wine producers of the new world seized on these statistics and produced a series of heavy, industrial strength wines with sweetness akin to blackcurrant cordial. Guaranteed to give you a bad head, these aberrations come from some of the most popular and most advertised wine houses. What the customers of these grape abusers would make of a real wine I have no idea.

France, the most famous producer of wine in the world, has stepped up its efforts and there are amazing bargains to be had, if only people would look. I asked a Frenchman once what he thought of Australian wine. 'Ca existe' was his reply, 'It exists'. Pompous yes, but the best way to describe it.

3) A Little Reward

There are constantly stories in the press about government initiatives to make us behave the way we should, particularly in regards to the environment. These measures could be made so much more successful if every one didn't involve a proposal to fine or charge people for not doing what they want. Imagine the take up for recycling if people received a small council tax rebate at Christmas for doing it. Or if drivers could leave their cars at home and use a clean, efficient public transport system. All we seem to know how to do is disincentivise and fine, giving the excuse to any knockers that these are just revenue generating measures. Which they probably are.

4) Accentuate the Positives

I am aware that I am giving off the impression that I am an irrepressible moaner. In many ways that is absolutely right. But I also have a capacity to feel pleased, indeed 'lucky', when things aren't quite as bad as they first seem. On a recent trip to Scotland, my expensive Sony camera decided not to work anymore. I had purchased it 11 months before for a hefty fee, and I now no longer had a receipt or knew where I bought it. Well, I got it at Stansted airport, but that wasn't going to get me very far.

On my return, I had a letter from Curry's explaining my warranty on the camera would soon expire and did I want to pay for an extended one. Instantly, where and when I bought it together with proof of purchase had dropped into my lap. I was left feeling very lucky, as my broken camera situation could be resolved with one trip to a grim, crowded retail part and a half hour discussion with a spotty teenage member of staff. A far better feeling than had it just not broken in the first place.

5) Total Policing?

The Police have recently undertaken a poster campaign across the country, with large messages displayed at many bus stops and advertising hoardings. I've seen these large fonts and forceful messages in Newcastle, Manchester and and Glasgow in the past fortnight and am still at a loss as to their purpose. One simply declares, 'ANYTHING YOU SAY MAY BE TAKEN IN EVIDENCE'. Anything? A conversation in my car or if I talk in my sleep?

Either the communications office of the police has never read 1984, or they regard Orwell's looming vision as some type of blueprint for law and order. I better not expand further, as anything I say is being taken in evidence. Of what, I don't know.

So there it is. And now I am off to relocate as my young beachside intruders have lit a barbeque and I am shrouded in choking smoke. The joys of the English countryside...

Mountain Pass Series

2009-04-20T10:10:00.003+01:00

You may have read bits and pieces of the series of blogs written by my business partner (blogger username Espiritoart - Andy). This is an epic tale of stupidity in which went clubbing in Milan with our laptops. Never the most sensible of things to do.

The mountain pass title stems from the ridiculous task of rebuilding our business after this ill judged escapade set us back a good 6 months...

This tale of two idiots is now complete, in 5 parts: -

1) Setting the Scene

2) Two Idiots in Milan

3) Clubbing with Suitcases

4) I Blame Matt

5) The Final Chapter of Stupidity

Mountain Pass #5 - The Final Chapter of Stupidity

2009-04-20T09:55:00.004+01:00

We returned to Milan 2 days later as bonafide maniacs - intent on trackingthose daughters of whores down. However improbable it was.

After a steadying glass of red in the hotel, we headed back to the statzione in the darkness of late evening. We searched round a couple of streets looking for the vendors where we had met them and passed a gang of around 8 people outside an internet café. My heart skipped ten beats as I turned round for a proper look …… Matt - it’s them’. Matt turned and unbelievably, we found ourselves stood directly in front within touching distance. God, they were young and there was fear etched on the little plump one’s face. The taller smelly one (as Matt had remembered) seemed to be contemplating whether to have chips or a kebab, she had not a care in the world.

They retorted that they didn’t have the laptops when we demanded them back. ‘We’re not f*** stupid. We want them back’. (Really we’re not F*** stupid, honest). The rest of the gang - who worryingly were also within touching distance of us looked on. The girls bolted and we set off in pursuit across to the statzione. As we caught them they cleverly split, one going into the statzionne itself and the other turning completely, heading back down the street.

They problem was we couldn’t bring ourselves to touch them to attempt a restraint, they were after all just teenage girls. We followed the young plump one because she was slower on her feet. I noticed that we in turn were being followed by the gang the girls had been standing with. They were perilously close and there was some big looking lads. We were in danger of both being clobbered. So I made a sensible decision to run across the road out of harm’s way so they couldn’t strike out at us both. You see, this action meant they could only clobber Matt. ‘Matt’, I shouted. ‘There’s five of the F**** behind you. Watch Out!’ I added considerately.

Someone had to help us surely. 'Carabinieri, excusi, carabinieri!'. I found myself running across some tram tracks shouting at two respectable looking people. An older guy close to pensionable age ran towards Matt and flashed a badge at the girl. Thank F***. The gang moved back and the girl was shouting frantically at this old fellow who we can only assume was a civilian policeman. To our disbelief the fellow allowed the girl to walk off after a few minutes, shrugging his soldiers as we lambasted him. Was it that unlikely this little girl had actually robbed these two big Englishmen?

We set off in pursuit again and a street on, Matt stood to prevent the girl from walking further. I ran in to a hotel to call the police. The receptionist was disinterested and fobbed me off, saying she couldn’t understand me. An American guest finally came to my rescue and angrily told them that they knew exactly what I was saying. She finally rang the police but Matt and the girls had already disappeared off in to the night.

After an arduous task of trying to explain to the two carabinieri what had happened, I found myself in the backseat of a police car touring the murky Milan streets, looking for my good friend. ‘Quick back there’ The police car reversed back up the street. ‘Ah, No, No, Sorry. Sorry’. It was obviously going to be a fruitless search and the police soon got bored and dropped me off - so I could get a taxi back across town to my hotel!

My thoughts were with Matt. I had left him. Was he lying, bloodied and battered in a Milanese backstreet or worse? And more importantly, had he got those F*** laptops back. The hours ebbed away but the receptionist steadfastly refused to ring the police to report him missing. I had consumed the equivalent of a full bottle of red when and was slightly incoherent when he finally returned. He was alive but empty handed (he later told me that I had been unable todisguise my disappointment that he was indeed laptop-free).

It turned out Matt had had an adventure all of his own. The girl had screamed she was being attacked, some man had come down to look, she ran off and jumped on to a tram. Matt followed and just made the jump on to the tram as it pulled away and chased her up a packed carriage. They got off after a couple of stops, the girl finally buckled and matt accompanied her to an internet café where she rang for someone to bring the laptops. Matt asked the staff in the café to help but they ignored him, the girl set off again and Matt was forced to peruse her down a couple of backstreets. A guy appeared and said he would go get the laptops from a flat for 50 Euros. What? Surely Matt you didn‘t pay the thief to give you back your computer? No, no, no!! . The guy gleefully accepted the 50 Euros before telling Matt he hadn’t pinched them and it was nothing to do with him. Matt punched him in the face and retrieved his funds. Another guy appeared, and a big one according to Matt. Matt retreated and the girl seized her chance to make her final escape, disappearing off in the direction behind the big bloke from which Matt was fleeing.

Back upstairs in the hotel I lamented how stupid we had been to have miraculously found the girls and let them slip away. ‘We’re stupid. F**** stupid. Idiots!! Utter w**** we are’. ‘Matt, I know your way of dealing with something is to just try to shut it out and go to sleep, but me - Ineed to dissect it and persecute ourselves’. Even in all the turmoil I recognised our different mindsets, ignored his wishes and ploughed on, ‘honestly, we’re 30 this year f***** idiots’....

My incessant chastising of us through the early hours had left Matt bewildered, tired and beaten. My insistence to find the internet café he had been to the night before, call the police, check the CCTV and then goto the Milanese press pushed him too far. ‘RAARGGHH. I can’t deal with this bloody crusade any longer!’ he cried. The silence was only punctuated an eternity later when he had to borrow 5 Euros for a coffee.

To while away the hours until the return flight we did make it to the internet café and then to the police station. Unfortunately the ‘CCTV wasnot working last night’. We finally made it home later that day, disillusioned at our own stupidity and filled with recoiling anger at the seemingly endless injustice we had initiated.

On reflection now - the events in Milan were helpful. It taught us the hard way of the importance of: PLANNING / CONTINGENCIES / BACK-UPS and BACK-UPS. It also made us stake stock, improve the site, deliver a much better body of work and launch a year to the exact weekend later. So hopefully for anyone starting a business, there maybe something to draw on to avoid a near catastrophe - even if it is only not to go nightclubbing with your suitcase, laptop, passport and digital cameras...

Mountain Pass #4 - I Blame Matt

2009-04-20T09:23:00.002+01:00

I returned from the toilet. Where are they? Where’s Matt? Deviant – Is he off dancing with the pair of them? I wandered round the dance floor.

It was dark, loud. Where are they? Ahh at last, here was one of the girls. Hi, where’s Matt? She looks concerned and gestured for me to hand over my phone to make a call. She’d lost them too. I passed the phone in to her hand. She looked at me and ………slipped it effortlessly in to her bag. Hang on???

I leaned forward with both hands. As I did, my wrists were grasped tightly by a small stocky guy to the side of me. The girl reached in to my other pocket and took my wallet. (I realised at this point that these were definitely not the nicest girls in the mundo!) What the F***? She removed the 100 or so Euros, calmly sifted though my cards, taking one, before putting the rest back and returning the wallet to my jeans pocket (A caring thief! There is a semblance of good in everybody - is there not?).

Suddenly my wrists were free but by the time I turned they had disappeared into the throng. The search was useless and so I switched to finding Matt which took a good half hour. He was dazed and slumped on a chair. ‘Where is everyone?’, his slurring voice asked. ‘They’ve gone, robbed us!’ I replied. To my increasing annoyance - he was struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation, in fact he didn’t even known there was a situation.

We looked desperately round the club again, outside, back inside again. The crumb of comfort we found in seeing our suitcases, towering proudly over a small round table almost instantly receded when we realised the laptop bags were not in accompaniment.

Matt was still drunk and he slept most of the way on the train to Firenze, leaving me to contend with a conductor requesting 80 Euros - given that we had completely forgot to buy a ticket back in the early Milan dawn. He finally took pity on me as I explained the situation and did not charge us on the proviso we got off at the next stop, Piacenza. He also provided me with the useful advice to get on a train to Firenze - as the one we were on didn’t!!!

This gesture was tempered by my increasing fury at Matt. He was leaving me to deal with all the S*** yet he spoke the better Italian. I erupted.... MAAATT’. I shook him. ‘F**in hell, 6-months, working all hours on the business, and we’ve lost f**** everything!’. Matt was incredulous. He smiled smugly and casually told me there was nothing to worry about - everything was saved on backups back in Newcastle.

Arrggghh. I had reached my tipping point and screamed back at him, demanding he shared my pain. ‘Have we, have we. We’ve got the website, but the artworks, the F*** artworks. We haven’t got the F*** artworks saved.’ This for me was the best part of the entire trip. The forlorn, despairing look which enveloped his face, instantly banishing his conceitedness, did at least unload a miniscule part of my heavy burden. Haha you twat. We‘re both F***d!

We stood on the Piacenza platform in the biting cold, reflecting on what had happened. We had been done like kippers. The girls helped us to get drunk, and separated us while the other went to the toilet and made off with... Well, only 2 laptops, 2 digital cameras, 2 ipods, 2 mobile phones (Matt was just realising he didn’t have his) and 1 passport, (typically mine). We had kindly hand-packed all of that in to the laptop bags and trusted two girls who we had met on the street 1 hour earlier with them. Some might say naïve, others preposterously stupid.

6-months of intense hard-work had just disappeared. We may have still had a website but we had no product - you cannot print canvasses from small jpeg images and our only back-up of the real images was on each other’s laptops.

Our 2 days in Florence were taken in up in British consulates and police stations. We even tried to convince ourselves that a very expensive meal was beautiful, when all either of us could manage was a couple of mouthfuls of a steak that had already drowned in a rich dark chocolate textured sauce. ‘It might not be for us, but what a restaurant, you cantell it’s quality’ I salvaged. Matt agreed.

The Unbearable Being of Likeness

2009-04-03T14:43:00.007+01:00

Best to move on swiftly from that mangled title I feel. I suffer from random passions and preferences for things. I'm not sure if other have the strange outlook as I do. I know people all like different things, but it usually for a reason. For example, people like the phrase 'life's rich tapestry', which would aptly fit what I am trying to describe. But I don't like that twee comment at all so I wont use it. I can't for the life of me think why I like Canada, Russian Literature of the town of Narbonne in France. True, there are likeable things about all of them, but that isn't why I like them. I sense I have lost you already. I am myself.

Canada is a fantastic place, friendly, scenic and bewilderingly vast. I've been lucky enough to visit a small fraction of this country and see it for myself. There's nothing strange about liking it. Except that I liked it before I'd been, before I knew anything about it other than what the flag looks like. I've been across North America and my favourite place is the pleasant but unremarkable Halifax, Nova Scotia, rather than Boston or New York. I drink whisky and I like Canadian Club more than better quality, tastier brands.

Russian literature has many classics, but everyone would agree there are equals from other cultures. But I haven't read a serious book by a non-Russian for years. I seek out obscure ones now that I've done the big names. And I forcibly enjoy them, denying myself the opportunity to criticise them even if I don't enjoy them. I rank Bulgakov's Master and Margarita in my top twenty books, and I just don't like it. Talking cats indeed.

I love France, have been many times and am comfortable in why I developed this opinion. But Narbonne, a small provincial city in Languedoc is my favourite place of all. It is surrounded my Montpellier, Perpignan, Sété, Toulouse and Narbonne. But I prefer to all of those other places. It boasts an impressive unfinished cathedral and a pleasant, compact centre. It also has a history of race riots but that doesn't put me off. I only went the first time because I had to change trains there, and had such a hangover I couldn't face the ongoing journey. I spent my stay there stuck in the hotel watching the Champions League final, rather than any great social or cultural pursuits.

I'm not sure how I can recognise the failings in the things that I like and like them all the more for them. Perhaps I'm odd. Sometimes this thought worries me. And then I realise people out there laugh at Rob Brydon, watch Holby City and read Dickens. And then I relax, as there's nothing rational about enjoying those things either. I realise, I'm not alone.

Mountain Pass #3 - Clubbing with Suitcases

2009-04-03T13:23:00.004+01:00

Ahh so the girls!!!! Well it went something a little like this.

They were very nice to us. They put us at ease as we chatted in fragmented sentences - in a hybrid of English, Italian and French. We asked them if there was a bar we could find refuge in. They disappeared for a minute or two and returned, politely ending their calls to tell us there was the taxi was on its way. They got in the taxi with us to take us there.

The chills and anxieties that arose in us around the statzione were obliterated to another lifetime, as we sat relaxed on the back seat laughing and chatting – making friends. Were these the most helpful, friendly girls in the mundo? A few minutes on, the taxi swung around a corner and pulled to a halt. The scene that greeted us - big groups of late teen / young 20 something’s, all dressed ‘street casual’ in training tops and chunky white trainers was a little disconcerting.

But thankfully the girls were there beckoning us up to the nightclub steps, briefly muttering a reply to one of the hostile looking gang members. One of the girls even came back to help me negotiate the steep steps after I struggled to haul the suitcase up. This would be a difficult manoeuvre at the best of times not least when clutching a laptop in the 'free' hand.

Inside the packed club, the throng of people parted a path before us in amazement as we dragged our suitcases through to a small seating area. One of the girls was busy; repeatedly disappearing and returning every few minutes whilst the other sat with us drinking. A couple of more double Jack Daniels set our heads spinning once again and then it happened...

Spare a Thought for the Bankers

2009-04-02T21:40:00.005+01:00

I'm about to present a social commentary for which I have no qualification whatsoever. The ground on which I will touch is far beyond my intellectual capacity. Much like sudoku in that respect. In fact, even during the planning for this article, I realised the flaws in my logic. At the same time i will present an egalitarianism where everyone is treated equally, as individuals. So all equal, but different. Not a great start. And if that appears too uplifting I'll go on to blame all the world's economic woes on everyone, as humans. Fantastic, so the world is doomed because we are who we are.

And as if that wasn't enough, I will also fail to offer any alternatives or solutions. The only thing I'm good as seems to be downplaying expectations. If only there was a career where I could be as critical as I like of society - yet offer no ideas on how to make it any better. Oh hang on, jut let me make a note to join the Conservative Party as soon as I finish this.

The reason I have chosen to defend bankers is twofold, both based on personal experience. For a start it isn't really clear what a banker is. Is it all bank workers, city bankers or just the bosses of big investment banks? Whichever of these groups is being blamed, that blame is unlikely to lie at the door of every one of them. For the best part of a decade, until last year, I was a manager at Northern Rock. During the crisis which saw the bank run and a third of the workforce axed (myself included), I experienced similar generalisation first hand. 'Northern Rock's Incompetent Management' cried every MP, newscaster and journalist. If you take that description literally then I'm one of them. Was it my fault, a manager in the complaints department? I don't think so but after hearing that every day for 12 months it was hard to believe that wasn't what other people thought.

Obviously I'm being too sensitive here, but it can affect you. Just as it affects people in groups of other popular news phrases of the moment. Asylum seekers are spongers. Iran is part of the axis of evil. The media is responsible for the sexualisation of young people. Bankers are stereotyped just as much. Having said that, I've a lot more sympathy for any Iranian TV producers currently seeking political asylum.....

Aside from the issue of stereotyping, bankers (however you define them) are only doing what the majority of people would do given the chance. A friend of mine from university (where I clearly didn't study sociology) is a hedge fund manager. He's a perfectly nice man, generous and intelligent. What he did was get into a career where he could use that intelligence to make lots of money. There will be some amongst those judging bankers who wouldn't have done the same, but most would. I know I would.

Everyone can talk about the perfect job, living the dream and the like. The sad fact is, the vast majority of us don't ever get them. It shouldn't stop you striving, but most people just do a job because it pays the bills. How many estate agents, truck drivers or complaints managers dreamed of doing that job when they were young? There's nothing wrong with them and some people get some enjoyment out of them - but if you ask whether you would have been a banker and earned ten times as much? In most cases human nature dictates that you would.

It is human nature that has created a society driven by status and possessions. With notable exceptions we are all part of it. And we'd have managed a hedge fund and made our millions over the last ten years if we could have done. So it's not just the bankers fault, it's mine and yours.

Fit For Parenthood?

2009-04-01T13:16:00.003+01:00

No - not me. This morning however it was harrowingly obvious I wasn’t alone.

As I settled in to my seat on the metro and unfolded my paper, there was a slight commotion. Two teens, shaven headed but reassuringly suited and booted, prised the doors back open and bundled on to the carriage.

‘Eehhhh, man. Mam man, a cannit here you man. Am on the Metro’. The reassurance was fleeting. It was quite clear that opposite me were - as we say in Newcastle - two ‘charvers’. The conversation went on.

‘I’m on me way for an interview. Eh? - Aye this morning. Aye. I’m F*cked though. The bairn’s been bad aal neet’. A pause. ‘Naar, just coughing an that like and being sick'. A further pause. 'Naah she’s in the hoose. I’ll only be an hoor’. A longer pause. ‘Aye the dogs in in aal’. An even longer pause. ‘Divin’t worry mam man, it if gans for her, I’ll f*ckin smash it’.

I instinctively peeped above the paper and then upward to the route map, averting prolonged eye contact. The conversation wasn’t over though and it didn’t get better. ‘Hahaaaaa. She was deed funny like. She was farting this morning and it F*ckin stunk’. There was no indication as to whether this was the ‘bairn’ or the dog.

Fortunately, I was only travelling one stop. As I walked to my destination it still troubled me though. I just couldn’t comprehend what I’d heard, nor put it out of my mind. To leave the dog in the house with the young child in the logic that you’ll ’discipline’ the dog should it have attacked the child. Perverse beyond belief.

I don’t have children, but how can anyone treat them with such contempt? Even as I write this, it still disturbs me. Does a childhood of neglect, beatings and dog bites await? Or miraculously did this thing, masquerading as an adolescent human being somehow attract a loving, doting young mother who will shower her with the love and care afforded to myself and
that deserved by any child.

It would seem as unlikely as her father succeeding in this morning’s job interview, the very one for which he had left her. We can all only hope...

When in Rome (Don't do as we did)

2009-03-30T20:30:00.018+01:00

At the moment I have many reasons to be irritated with Andy, my business partner. I’m not going to go into them, let’s just say he knows what they are. Odd as it sounds, one of the reasons involves ‘crouching’. While not quite as bad as it appears, it is pretty bad. Instead of listing these current gripes, I’ve decided to relay the story of a trip to Rome a couple of years back – which casts him (and the other protagonists of the tale) in an unfavourable light. All except me, who remains the shining light of reason, culture and rationality. In these circumstances at least.

The setting concerns Italy’s capital city of Rome, a cultural hotspot of fine food, art and architecture. I and a good friend of mine, Northie, decided to get away for a weekend there to enjoy just these sorts of highlights. Northie (called Steve, but another Steve is introduced later) is fluent in Italian, and coupled to my conversational knowledge of Italian – we thought a tour of the city away from the bright tourist lights could be achieved and enjoyed. We did not reckon on my business partner Andy and friend Steve booking up a couple of days before our own departure. ‘We’ll meet you over there’, they declared as they set off a full day earlier.

I travelled down by train to London to meet up with Northie before our onward flight to Rome. The flight was largely uneventful, as was our arrival. True, we witnessed a cockney ‘gentleman’ berating an Italian taxi driver with the words ‘Take me to the ‘‘otel ‘fackin ‘Orino’, but that is by the by. Our own taxi driver, who we conversed with in Italian, was extremely friendly so we can bypass the fact he dropped us off a full mile away from our hotel. The first evening, in an unusual November warm spell, consisted of a late meal out on the terrace, followed by the lively bars of Testaccio, a suburb of Rome less travelled by tourists. We resisted the calls from the ‘intruders’, Andy and Steve – and ignored their jibes that Testaccio was ‘the gypsy area of town’. In short, without their presence we had a great night meeting Italian people, speaking their own language and embracing their culture.

We arranged to meet to the two reprobates in Piazza Navona, in the old town, the following afternoon. An omen of what was to come appeared quickly; as we approached their table at a café to see they had ordered us 3-pint glasses of lager. These were consumed and more were ordered. We heard tales of their two previous nights, which had been beyond our wildest dreams it appeared – as they frequented ‘Johnny’s Bar’. All of Rome at your disposal, and the best you can do is Johnny’s bar I ask you. Despite attempts to extol the virtues of our own experience to date, it would appear that you just can’t beat old Johnny’s when you go to Rome.

All of this banter was irritating but could be tolerated, unlike the plans the uncultured twosome had in store for the evening. They had been handed a flyer for a pub crawl, and suggested we join it. One of the earliest major centres of civilisation and these two, er... ‘twats’ had managed to find a pub crawl. To my horror, my friend and formerly best man seemed to embrace the idea. And so, despite my objections and horror, we departed Piazza Navona with instructions to meet on the Spanish Steps at 7pm.

On arrival, it was worse than I feared. A group had assembled and was sharing a crate of a beer called ‘Smeg Lager’. Ok, maybe not that, but some suggestive and unpleasant name. Despite being in our mid to late 20’s we four were the oldest there by at least 7 years. Our companions for this ill judged foray into Rome’s underbelly were largely all around 18, from America, and very excited they could legally drink in Italy while on their gap year. The presence of these nubile, naive and exceptionally annoying youngsters only encouraged the vile lustings of my partners in crime and off we went.

Italian bars aren’t equipped for 75 people descending on them at once, and a series of venues proved completely incapable of hosting us – both in bar and toilet facilities. I found myself unwillingly lumbering from bar to bar either parched or bursting to use a lavatory. My irritation grew and a young South African got both barrels for laughing at me for being married. Being tied down it seemed was the equivalent of a slow painful death in this young girl’s eyes. She left after a verbal volley, quite disheartened and on the end of a lesson that she had no hope of ever finding anyone, given the gravity of her ugliness. She wasn’t that bad but I wasn’t having a good time and wasn’t in the mood to entertain piss-taking from someone so irritating.

The next tiny bar quickly saw a queue form at the lavatory that was longer than Gareth Southgate’s face. Having trekked some distance from the last dive, I couldn’t wait that long and headed outside in the hope of finding a nearby establishment that could deliver me from my pain. I walked for a few minutes, even contemplating fouling the streets of this cradle of civilisation – until a passing policeman forced my zip to hastily retreat upwards once again. At last, a small bar appeared, an espresso was ordered and drunk and I had my blessed release.

On returning to meet the others I was confronted by deathly silence and a bar so empty, you could find more activity in the mind of George Bush. The group of revellers had departed to their next destination, taking along with them my best man, business partner and his friend. No, that is correct, they hadn’t waited for me. I rang Andy, the only other member of the party who had a mobile with reception. There was no answer, and neither was there an answer on the next 15 occasions. Eventually I got through, and was given a precious name, ‘Bar Ternano’.

In my eagerness to find a taxi I embarked on a perilous mission in the middle of a dual carriageway to achieve my aim. My helpful would-be rescuer did all he could to locate my destination, calling other cabbies on his radio when he didn’t know it himself. Sadly, it soon transpired that this Bar did not exist. I should have known it. Andy’s Italian pronunciation is so bad that the one word he knew, ‘hello’, was uttered as ‘Bongonio’. I embarked on a series of further calls, all of which remained unanswered.

This story is already quite long, so I won’t list every last attempted call. But suffice to say it was past midnight and I had tramped the streets of Rome, utterly lost, for an entire four hours before my next contact. I was swiftly passed on to Northie, who explained that he would meet me in a bar at the Trevi fountain immediately. During the course of this conversation I could hear Andy in the background shouting ‘Howay Steve, that call is costing me f-ing money!’. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I could have smashed it to the ground in that timeframe, such was my fury.

I sat, fuming, drinking my coffee and waited for my best man, contemplating what a poorly judged decision that was. When he appeared he broke the ice by describing the scene as he entered a bar across the square and asked for ‘a tall blond Englishman’. He was swiftly ushered away. We returned, grumpily, to our hotel but eventually made our peace.

The following day, perhaps because I was expecting my much deserved apology, I agreed to meet Andy and Steve at their hotel. Their lodgings were surprisingly not as they had described, on a street lined with cheery nymphs handing out free wine – but rather on a dreary, beggar-ridden thoroughfare near the Colosseum. I knocked on the door and was soon confronted by Andy, in only a pair of jeans and a long-untrimmed toenail protruding from a hole in the one sock he was wearing. Shuddering at this vision, Northie and I retired to a nearby restaurant for lunch while Steve and Andy readied themselves for the day ahead.

We had nearly finished our meal when Andy arrived, shuffling along half drunk and half hungover. He ordered some chips (first pub crawl, then fried potatoes... how English) and other foodstuffs. I quickly asked for the bill in order to avoid paying for anything for this revolting vision before me. I learned later that they had added his meal to my bill meaning I paid for it after all. Unable to bear the sight of him scooping French fries into his maw with his clawed hands, we parted. The apology didn’t arise.

Northie soon descended into a virulent man flu, and when the evening approached. I was forced to decide between nursing his snotty head or meeting Andy and Steve at the aforementioned ‘Johnny’s’. Against better judgement I opted for the latter. This haven of paradise was presided over by Johnny, a Ron Jeremy lookalike and colossal egomaniac who had installed an effigy of himself in the toilets. Another excruciated evening passed, albeit with a lower score on the disaster scale. I had to travel back to London the following day, while Andy and Steve were flying back directly to Newcastle. Kindly, in some form of recompense, Steve insisted I change flights and go directly home – with him footing the bill.

At the airport at 8.30 the next morning I paid 130 Euros to transfer my flight and waited the four hours before my homeward flight. Eventually, Andy and Steve arrived and expressed their surprise at my presence. On mentioning the previous night’s offer, I was confronted with nothing but laughter in my face. Murder was only not committed because I preferred to spend my sentence in England, where I could be visited by my family.

So there it is. You may well be bored but I feel a little better. To think that I somehow consented to form a business, espiritoart.com with this person is still somehow beyond me. But getting that off my chest feels a lot better. All that is left is for me to wish you well with a cheerful ‘Bongonio’.

Thanks a lot, Twitter

2009-03-25T19:22:00.008Z

As ever, I have been stuck for anything to write on this blog. In this position, I decided (unwisely as it turns out), to ask the community on microblogging social network Twitter for advice. Now, these are a friendly bunch, full of intelligent conversation and not the inane lot that Twitter’s detractors would have you believe in. But, some do have a cruel streak I think – given the variety of strange and near-impossible blog subjects they recommended. The problem I have now, given they took the time to make suggestions, is I feel I have to uphold my end of the bargain.

If you are a twitter user, the usernames of those who recommended a subject are included below, with links to their pages – should you wish to follow them.

The first of many responses to my plea came from ‘Foxiehaha’, who recommended a post on the spring weather currently parking its warm and airy behind on the UK. She asked me to examine the feeling that the end of winter has on the psyche. The onset of spring is a key time for sufferers of Seasonal Affective Disorder, plus the rest of the population who prefer to say ‘I don’t like being cold’. The prospect of longer days, more sunlight and warmer temperatures fills people with contentment. It never occurs to the majority that often this means cooking in your stuffy office wishing you were outside. For me, the first signs of spring are a puzzling time, when for the first time in months, it occurs to me that it is pleasant to be in the open air. It takes some getting used to, this feeling. As does realising that its fine to relax and enjoy it without feeling guilty.

More difficult subjects were starting to roll in, with ‘RealTamster’ posing a question about how to liven up proceedings in the cafeteria at lunchtime. This is a hard one because I don’t know what it is like, where she works or who she goes with. The one thing I do know is that she holds strongly feminist views, which is one reason my suggestion to perk up those lunches may seem odd. Buy the Sun newspaper.

While never a fan of the Sun, if I recall my days of real work and cafeteria lunches – one of the people I dined with would always have a copy. It would always provide entertainment, although not in the traditional ‘gazing at the naked flesh’ way. A variety of games can be played, including counting how many problems the Sun can lay at the doors of asylum seekers. Did you know these scrounging fellows are responsible for the economic crisis, youth disorder, Legionnaire’s Disease and David Beckham’s metatarsal injury?

The Sun once came in handy as a prop, when a friend of mine and resident of Basingstoke was asked a question about the geographical whereabouts of his home town. Using the newspaper, I pointed at the top right hand corner and gave this as a reference for Newcastle Upon Tyne. In a similar fashion, the bottom right hand corner was used to denote London. I asked, with my prop, where on the page Basingstoke would lie. Studying the paper scrupulously for some time, my friend eventually posed the question ‘so where’s Reading’? Mind you, this is the same friend who after I’d commented I’d had a nice Lamb Bhuna, stated ‘Lamb Bhuna? That’s a bloomin’ girls drink’! Apparently, he was thinking about Lambrini.

Things didn’t get better (for me) from there. My next challenge was to tackle the suggestion from ‘MrGorianDray’, on what the effects of the economic crisis were on insects. His hypothesis concerned bees struggling to cope with storing honey in their hives after a fall in sales of the sweet substance. I could say it could cause serious problems to the world’s flora, given the reduced pollination that would ensue from a cutback in nectar collection flights. But that would be to admit to seeing Jerry Seinfeld’s animated Film, Bee Movie.

While entirely more sensible, my next subject presented some an encompassing theme that I realised I’d struggle to narrow down. A subject that has been covered in many books – the childhood experience in England. This came from ‘josephdalby’, who had given me a real challenge. When I think back I could touch upon many things. British Bulldog, the Roger Red Hat series of books, being on the receiving end of ‘The Slipper’, or the year council staff went on strike and the playing field grass was higher than our young heads. Instead I have only chosen to relay one anecdote which still strikes me as unjust, no matter how distant a memory my schooldays are. Anyone with the surname Warnes will empathise with me here. My dad came into my room one night to investigate why I was sobbing away. ‘People have been teasing me’ I tearfully explained. ‘Oh dear, what have they been calling you’ my dad enquired. ‘Warnesy!’ I sobbed. Oh dear.

I still have about twenty subject suggestions I haven’t touched upon. And I will get round to those later.

Jade Goody, Telephone Boxes, Cocks and Art

2009-03-23T22:20:00.005Z

Have wanted to add something to the blog for days but have been stuck with a serious lack of inspiration. Snippets of half interesting ideas kept popping their heads up, but then shrinking back again as I could only ever have strung them out into one paragraph. Then I struck upon the idea of cobbling all these thoughts together into a mixed bag of an article – using the timeframe in which I thought about them as the glue that holds these disparate thoughts together. So, this is some insight into what I thought of this weekend – despite not one the subjects seeming worthy of its own article. I settled on this inglorious introduction in an attempt to cushion your expectations of anything particularly meaningful to come.

There’s been a lot of coverage of the sad death of Jade Goody in the news, with an emphasis on the positive influence she has had on people’s lives. Strangely, the influence she had on my life yesterday was completely unexpected – I was compelled to agree with the Daily Mail. And no, before you ask, not the headline about asylum seekers turning innocent children’s goldfish into lesbians. Instead, during a channel 4 news debate, I found myself totally in sync with Mail columnist Amanda Platell. The debate's other guest, Bishop Jonathan Blake described Jade as ‘a saint, a princess, an exemplar of biblical proportions’. Platell disagreed, pointing out that Jade Goody is an example of the current generation of young British girls who state their life’s aims to be rich and famous. Her tragic death will have a legacy in increased cervical cancer testing, but that is a lot different to being a lifelong campaigner helping others.

The next random thing that entered my head concerned telephone boxes. (What a thrilling young gentleman I am....). Reflecting on Great Britain, there is surely an element of that greatness that has been chipped away by the replacement of old fashioned red cast-iron telephone boxes. Although this is hardly news, they’ve been gone for years and years, I still think an enquiry into who made the decision and / or a public flogging of those people is both a considered and appropriate next step.

During the weekend I had a fine example from Andy, my business partner, on the real need to think very carefully before you insult someone. Not whether you insult them or not, but the manner in which the insult is worded. Failure to get this right can seriously backfire, render your insult irrelevant and leave you with egg on your face. In this instance, Andy was asked a comment on an acquaintance, and said ‘I can think of one word to describe him, and it begins and ends in the letter C’. While his audience puzzled on whether there were any such words, its dawned on me what he was trying to say. He meant to say the man was a cock. But, in attempting to convey that message, it was clearly Andy that came off worse, not being able to spell that simple four letter word.

My next point will at least, I hope, demonstrate that I am capable of thinking beyond the best way to call someone a ‘cock’. I recently visited the Northeast’s flagship centre for contemporary art, Gatehead’s Baltic Arts Centre. One of the exhibits there struck me as typical of the content I have witnessed in a number of visits over the years. Three piles of soil. The fact that these piles were conical in shape didn’t warm me to them. And neither did the fact the three piles had different aggregation – fine soil, slightly lumpy and big clods. I think giving people cultural aspirations and education is a good thing, but particularly in an area that has experienced a lot of (much needed) regeneration, a different approach is needed. If only the exhibits weren’t pitched at such a pretentious level – people’s cultural knowledge could be lifted in stages by gradually increasing the challenging nature of the work on show . This would start with exhibitions that ordinary Newcastle and Gateshead residents can look at and think about, rather than instantly dismiss the gallery as ‘somewhere not for them’.

Mountain Pass #2 - Two Idiots in Milan

2009-03-20T14:41:00.011Z

Three pints, three double Jack Daniels and 40 minutes to boarding a Ryanair flight to Milan (Bergamo) - we sipped as quickly as we slipped towards impending doom. The engulfing misplaced drunken bravado propelled us to the bar and to order a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. This was the first of what was to become a catalogue of wrong decisions, dwarfing even that of the good American Bush.

The mix of potent drinks in such a short period spun our heads and force-fed our egos. We turned the laptops back on with the mocked up website emblazoned across the screen, and revelled in the glances it attracted from the two tables to our right. YEAH, IT WAS!!!!!! FANTASTIC WASN'T IT, WASN'T IT?????

The flight flew by in a haze, ending embarrassingly with a rebuff from the strikingly good-looking stewardesses. They politely encouraged us back to our seats after our failed attempts to flirt with them as they set sat chatting in the empty back rows. Cringingly we 'seduced' the girls with the lines 'we've got our own business - its art' and 'are there any good clubs in Bergamo'. We merited the derisory response they provoked. Dear, oh dear!!!!! That we remain single is perhaps unsurprising.

We had learning nothing from our desire to get there early. It was only on the way to pick me up from work the previous day that Matt realised the flight was 'tomorrow' and I stayed at work, cancelling my half day. We abandoned plans to have a couple of hours sleep at Bergamo airport and made an alcohol fuelled decision to taxi it straight to Milan.

Despite being the business hub of Italy, we felt a bleary sense of bewilderment that the gates to the Stazione Centrale were not to be re-opened until 5, a full 4 and a half hours later. What prompted our decision to save on a hotel and kill time until our 5.45 to Firenze was anybody’s guess.

At this point I must confess that on my first trip to FLORENCE in 2003 I was alarmingly even less cultured than four years on. Travelling alone, I puzzled as the train chugged to a halt beneath the large white and blue sign declaring ‘FIRENZE’. ‘Excusi... is this Florence?’ I enquired of the short, balding Italian man across the aisle. A dismissive shake of the head and a furrowed eyebrow somehow unnerved me more than his piercing stare. That I would have settled back down for my on-going journey had it not been for the belated and begrudging 'Ci' is perhaps the most damning indictment of my cultural awareness.

Back in Milan - the biting cold offered no respite from that left behind in Newcastle. The unwelcoming and shadowy characters and rings of street gangs chilled further. Apprehension prevailed over alarm solely because the invincibility derived from our top-up whisky on-flight was yet to fully wear off. With laptop bags draped over our shoulders and the suitcases train-tracking over rickety old pavements behind us - we set off for the sanctuary of a bar to while away the early hours.

Some 40 minutes later, far from refuge and disgruntled, we compromised on yet another beer and for safety in numbers. So, we parked ourselves amongst a throng of people huddled outside a street vendor, just in the shadows of the stazione. Menacingly the cliques encircling us were non-native Italian speaking and seemed to be multiplying as each sip of Heineken ebbed away.

Next time, it will be my sad duty to introduce the girls.

Afterthought - If at this point we had only put down our cans and stopped to assess how close we were to the abyss, we could have stepped back, changed direction and averted the fall.

Ten top travel destinations (that aren't in France)

2009-03-17T22:31:00.010Z

In a bout of frivolous self-indulgence I've put together a list of travel destinations I love. While not exactly off the beaten track in an Amazonian mud-hut sense, I've deliberately steered clear of New York, Paris and the like. Fantastic as these places are, I've moved on from talking about places everyone knows. I have strange tastes and can fall in love with a place for all sorts of reasons - the main one being adopting random countries as my 'favourites' without ever having been there. I'm not painting myself in the most rational of lights, in reflection.

I've been fortunate enough to travel quite a lot, although it will never be as much as I'd like. If my business partner and fellow blogger Andy was writing this - you'd be lucky if one of the top ten was outside Vietnam. But sadly my travels haven't led me that far. And as anyone who read my last blog post, 'In defence of the French' will realise, I'd happily confine my selection to France. So much so that it would be difficult for anywhere else on earth to feature. I've deliberately excluded France from the list, hard as this will be for me.

Anyway, enough prevaricating about the bush.

1) Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

I love France, I may have mentioned. And I've excluded it from the list, not mentioning I had an ace up my sleeve. I've always loved Canada, for reasons beyond even me. So I can skew this list in favour of this country too, ha! Halifax is simply the first place I ever touched down in in Canada, and its unremarkable but friendly nature instantly grabbed me. It isn't beautiful, it is pleasant. It isn't backwards but it isn't the most advanced cultural hotspot. But it is an accommodating and welcoming host, an accessible launch-point for whale watching and a haven of interesting history. In particular, the relaxed Point Pleasant park aside, I loved Pier 21, a museum on the site of the quay where immigrants disembarked (a Canadian Ellis Island). Any place where you can sit on a park bench with a sandwich and see an osprey swoop to take an ornamental carp is fine by me.

2) Quebec City, Quebec, Canada

You could probably see this coming, France and Canada all rolled into one like a Mountie with a crêpe. Moving on from simple stereotypes, this small city is delightful in many ways. Its position, perched on a bluff high above the St Lawrence River, is majestic. Its small, cobbled streets and bustling shops and markets are quaint while still being very much alive. Travelling up the river from Montreal by hydrofoil only added to the anticipation, and this European and North American melting pot did not disappoint.

3) Siena, Tuscany, Italy

If you've read Andy's post, Mountain Pass #1, you may have picked up a sense of foreboding about what was about to happen to us in that tale about Italy. Even given what did happen (and he'll cover the capers and calamity in full), I can't put Siena any lower down my list. While less illustrious than its Tuscan cousin Florence, it is a lot more pleasant to walk around at a leisurely pace. Packed with medieval character, its huge central square 'Il Campo' is as atmospheric as any in Italy.

4) Newcastle Upon Tyne, Tyne & Wear, England

I live here so a great deal of travelling is not required to reach this particular destination. Despite more stereotypes than a hi-fi store, Newcastle has moved far beyond it's 'broon ale', coal mining and boozing reputation. At its heart, Grainger town represents some of the best town planning in the world, with its long 1830's classical streets a handsome and impressive sight. If and when the people behind the amazing redevelopment of the city's quayside and Baltic Arts Centre ever get in tune with reality - the region's cultural development will be complete.

5) Argostoli, Kefalonia, Greece

Number five. Did I say ten? If it is hard going for me at this point it must be worse for you - so I apologise! Kefalonia is a stunning Greek island, but it is probable that not too many of its visitors ever visit its capital, Argostoli. Given that the town was levelled by an earthquake in 1953, this may not surprise - but it has been restored with considerable care. It has a lively heart of shops and restaurants, coupled with a relaxed atmosphere and a stunning location. And its touching commemoration of Royal Navy personnel who were amongst the first to arrive and assist after the devastating quake was an added bonus.

6) Stockholm, Sweden

The most mainstream of my selections I imagine, the Swedish capital is a cosmopolitan cultural centre with fascinating history added in. My description of the city will probably add little to the countless guides you can find with a quick google search. I found it to be perfect other than a graffiti problem. Then again, Paul Weller playing an open air concert right next to my hotel may have helped.

7) Calvi, Corsica, France

Corsica is very different from mainland France, with a strongly Italian air and an independent heart. I say this to justify my cheating in including a French destination. My blog, my rules, so there. Calvi, on Corsica's northern coast is a perfectly preserved gem, placed on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Mediterranean.

8) Bamburgh, Northumberland, England

Northumberland's coastline, once you get clear of Blyth heading north, is pristine and quiet, as well as stunningly beautiful. Its coastal route of castles, fishing towns and the historic Lindisfarne monastery is achingly gorgeous, blissfully serene and not far for me to go. I acknowledge that the last point there may well be of little use to you. The pretty village of Bamburgh is dominated by a basalt crag, upon which stands an imposing castle that well..... dominates. I'll work on that description later in case anyone feels I'm obsessed with domination.

9 & 10) FRANCE, FRANCE, FRANCE

I've written off the major tourist destinations in the world. And I've disallowed France. But I can't do it! Chartres, Carcassone, Bourges, Avignon and Biarritz - I can't abandon you. I just haven't been to enough places to leave them all behind.

Mountain Pass #1 (Setting the scene)

2009-03-15T23:05:00.006Z

How is the hair..... Anyone ?!?!?!

You'll probably be relieved to know that I am not wrestling with society's collective ills today, or indeed imploding on an introspective rollercoaster. Although perhaps only temporarily - I've stopped but I'm still strapped in. It would seem I've paid more than once.

Having intimated in my last blog that I would begin to regale you with some of the stories since we (I include Matt), started out on the long journey to business launch, I'd better get on with it. I have to confess to enjoying reminiscing. Don't get me wrong, most of the defining memories were tumultuously bad. But there is a burgeoning feeling of comfort that whilst we didn't withstand what was thrown at us, we did at least come again to make it to this point.

And I'm certainly not intending to lay a pretentious golden egg on how to start your own business - we'll leave that to Sir Richard or Sir Alan, someone who's actually achieved. I'm reflecting on what we did wrong, which was quite a lot. Through some of these wacky incidents, there may be something to draw on from anyone who was thinking of starting their own business. Along the lines of what not to do!!!!!

The idea to set up a business was borne on a May bank holiday monday night, although was surprisingly not alcohol induced. Both Matt and myself had experienced our first ‘annus horribulis’ for very different reasons - reasons which remain too raw to put in to print. I can confirm however, that it had nothing to do with a dodgy curry.

On this Bank Holiday night we had a stomach wrenching loathing to go to bed (this is the last time I feel the need to make such a reference - not together). A trip which would only hasten the morning’s loathsome journey to the office. We talked the idea through to the early morning. And the idea was something that stimulated us both.

In the ensuing weeks the business became all consuming, an intrusive titan with a vice-like grip on every minute of our lives. Days and nights merged into one but the rush was mesmerising. From the madness of pre-breakfast chats, through to dinnertime field trips. Then on to brain-storming sessions with scrolls of paper covering every inch of the living room floor. Before finally limping to bed for a while before again crossing early morning to-do list minefield.

The business had already served its purpose to propel ourselves from our enveloping self pity in to an oasis of optimism and self -fulfilment.

Come the November, 6-months on - we had triumphantly baton exchanged the template website to our design team, ahead of a short trip to launch. We charged through the doors of Newcastle airport that very same day for a celebratory sojourn to Italy. Good times of course, can never last forever.

Next time will be back on the pass in Milano (or MilaNOOOO!!!!!!) What happened was monumentally stupid.

Afterthought......... Saturday's Guardian portrayed a taxi drivers harrowing life-long plight. The revelation that many expect to clear £35-£40k a year makes me less inclined to sympathise. Particularly, this Christmas when one conveniently forgot that my friend had paid him £17 at drop off-one - doubling my fare.

In defence of the french

2009-03-13T13:13:00.013Z

Another post that has nothing to do with our canvas art business, although the concession of adding the pictures means I can tell myself this is 'work'!

Over the last few days I've heard a few utterances of that common English statement, 'I hate the French'. On a national radio programme, there was also a reference to 'Cheese eating surrender monkeys', and that wasn't even Jeremy Clarkson this time. This is a time when (thankfully), xenophobia in the UK is if not decreasing, then at least being driven out of our everyday consciousness. But it appears that one of the few socially acceptable bastions of the ignorant is to dismiss the population of France with such a sweeping statement.

If I challenge these statements when I hear them in person, I am met with several factors which come together to convince English people to hold these views. The first of these is rendered no less stupid by my typing it, as when it is spoken by these people. They stink. Or they stink of garlic. Seriously, sometimes this is repeated by people who have jobs, seem quite intelligent and contribute to society in some way or another. Is garlic not commonly used in the UK's most common cuisine - Indian food? Or on pizzas, pasta, Chinese food or in many English dishes?

Let's take another one, they are arrogant. OK, there are some arrogant people in France, but using such an arrogant statement to criticise people for being arrogant makes little sense. And people should contrast the average level of customer service these days in Paris compared to London. Their capital city, famed for rudeness, is streets ahead of its English counterpart. Like England, the majority of French people are pleasant and welcoming, in some cases more so.

Another one is a further classic. They hate us so we hate them. Well, there's an ideology that is going to sort out the world's problems.

Some of this negativity stems from the Second World War, with a cavalier mindset that in this period in history all Frenchmen were cowards. It is historically correct that France did surrender following the invasion by Nazi Germany. But people who make these allegations rarely have any concept of what occured. The defeat owed much to the defensive strategy of French military command, insufficient preparedness, the declaration of war by Italy and the absence of any allies with the military power to resist the superior German war machine. These factors, coupled with superior air power, led to the end result more than any inherent lack of bravery.

Such a dismissive attitude is a poor tribute to 100,000 French soldiers who were killed, or the 1 million who spent the rest of the war help captive in camps. It should not be forgotten either, that 30 years earlier, a war fought bitterly on French soil led to the deaths of 1.7 million of the nation's inhabitants. With such a horrendous toll in living memory, there was inevitably going to be an effect on the nation's psyche.

France is a beautiful country, with fantastic wine and food, an enviable transport infrastructure, countryside, culture and cities. Just like the UK, with the exception of the wine and the transport links. I would listen if these statements were backed up with arguments based on the concerning rise of odious right wing politics in France. Or the treatment of former colonial subjects or the casual attitude to animal cruelty. But not because they stink.

And as for the cheese eating. There are more varieties of cheese in Britain than there are in France. We love the stuff too.

Straight (?) out of left field

2009-03-09T14:35:00.010Z

Well, I’ve made it at last. So I’ll start with a big hello and an equally big thank you to my fellow espiritoart blogger Mr Warnes. My dear business partner, friend, collaborative artist (erm!) and of course flatmate - thank you for the splendid introduction to me - for building such an anti-climactic sense of anticipation ahead of my first appearance.

Now let’s see. So far, you’ve showed my first and last attempt at a fine art painting (perhaps the removal of the letters 'i', 'n' and 'e' would be more appropriate) and promised our loyal band of followers (!!!!) a forthcoming foray in to the world of 'Andy's hair styling tips'!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’ve driven me off road from my original journey - to begin a ‘retrospective on the mountain pass’ to launching espiritoart. And to shed some light (and hopefully some laughs) on the tribulations of trying to dream up and launch a business. Not to mention a debacle in Milan which ripped up our embryonic enterprise, threatened to implode our friendship and in our subsequent self analysis and loathing- caused us to question our very sanity as 30 year old human beings.

All that can wait until next time. Instead I feel compelled to change tack and consider society’s perceptions of our very own relationship. You see it was the ‘hair tips’ that finished me off…..

That we decided to start a business together, naturally required us to spend a lot of time together. The business happens to be art and we happen to live together some of the time (oh, and we also have high-pitched voices). As a result, society unforgivingly tends to pass immediate judgement on our sexuality. Why?

Admittedly, those who know us well, will also be aware of our shared love for red wine (although not on nights out drinking - a social faux pas), for eating out together, visiting art exhibitions, going for walks and playing tennis together. Our friends derive only gleeful piss-taking pleasure from these extra-curricular activites and in fairness - if all this is not gay what is?

Well you see, perhaps our collective mindset as a society - and I include us - has not progressed as much as you might think. Pigeon-holing people by their likes and dislikes still has a profound impact on all of our lives, even though we are the very people who allow these social barriers to flourish.

Perhaps its a northern thing, but we too don’t drink red wine in a bar because ‘it’s gay’. Why? We like the taste, it’s not more expensive than a beer or a Johnnie Walkers and we don’t have a prejudiced bone in our fattening bodies. Differences in creed, colour or sexuality don’t even emit the faintest signal on either of our radars - we’ve both had friends with sexual leanings different to our own and I’ve had Black and Asian girlfriends.

Yet albeit only very occasionally, we still alter our behaviour, whether consciously or subconsciously. Perhaps because the ‘gay’ jibe can still be irksome due to the backward dogma it radiates. We, despite our liberal views, can still fall into an abyss just short of the moral high ground we aspire to.

Anyway before I sign-off. Trevor Sorbie moulding mud is just perfect for a spiked firm hold. Apply just a spot to the palm, rub gently and then firmly in to the hair. Repeat small applications (less is always more) and alternate between using the palm and the fingertips on the hair . It will provide a non-greasy, dry, natural look and will stay upright for as long as any teenage boy eating Viagra off Beyonce’s boobs.

Seeing as this my first blog entry.… a bonus. Forget the expensive designer moisturisers - and get yourself a great big tub of aqueous cream for £1.99 at the local chemists. Wash your face with it and then apply after drying. And the good news - not only will you have nice smooth skin, the tub will last you a month!

Till the next time - when we get back on the ’pass’.

Why do retailers proliferate the credit crunch mentality?

2009-03-06T12:06:00.008Z

Credit crunch, credit crunch, credit crunch. The popularity of this term must have it rocketing to the top of the Oxford Dictionary's list of terms to add to their next edition. It is clear that economic times are difficult, but is it necessary for people who sell products to join in with building such a bleak picture? Increasingly, advertisers are referring to the downturn in an attempt to win new business. Search the phrase "Beat the Credit Crunch" on google and you'll see adverts for discounts on newspapers, travel and even credit cards. How a credit card with 39.9% APR is going to help anyone beat the credit crunch is something I'll have to think about some more.

Is it really the best policy to try and ask someone to part with their cash while at the same time, reminding them of the credit crunch? This term has gone beyond its original meaning of the reduction in credit availability. Nowadays it is used by all major media organisations to encompass all aspects of an economic downturn, including job losses and falling currency values. Reminding a potential customer of all of this as you try and clinch as sale seems as likely to make them do without as to take advantage of a discount.

Taking some rough analogies, would the tobacco industry launch a new brand of low-tar cigarettes and proclaim them 'less likely to cause you to die'? Or a whisky brand saying 'beat the hangover from last night by drinking the rest of the bottle’? Although extreme examples, effectively they are the same as saying 'spend your cash here because you might not have any in the near future'.

Subliminal messages have long been used in advertising to generate a preference for a brand. But the message given out by the proliferation of credit crunch language seems at odds with the end result desired from an advert. Clearly, as a retailer of canvas art, a luxury item, the credit crunch is a relevant to me as every other business. But there won't be any adverts asking you to beat the credit crunch by buying a sale item from me any time soon.

Twitter and the future for followers of @stephenfry

2009-03-04T16:57:00.010Z

I recently joined Twitter, the microblogging platform where users share 140 character messages called ‘tweets’ with each other. I was joining millions of others who have been flooding to this rapidly growing social networking utility. One of my first actions, as it is for many new users, was to follow the Stephen Fry. The comedian and author is amongst the most popular Twitter users with over a quarter of a million subscribers to his acerbic and humourously irreverent tweets.

I'll happily admit it was perfectly entertaining to read about his celebrity dining experiences and whale watching. But what is more interesting is the star’s struggle to control his army of fans and prevent the experience he describes as ‘wonderful’ being ruined by his very popularity. Perhaps it was always going to be so. That a system allowing instant messaging would before long leave a celebrity swamped and struggling to enjoy the more personal interaction they had previously.

The signs were there right from the beginning, when just a few hours after his first tweet in October 2008 he was already warning ‘I wish I could answer you all individually, but I'm afraid that isn't possible’. This was just a brief forerunner to recent blog articles he has written expressly to request that followers adjust their behaviour in order to avoid him becoming swamped. The longest, written while out at sea off the coast of Baja California, asks followers not to send questions until they’d checked his previous tweets for the answers. Or in his other words ‘to use your own initiative’. This plea to lift the siege of his followers weighed in at over 6,000 more characters than a tweet would allow – suggesting that micro-blogging can only get you so far.

Fry also points to people using Twitter as a sales opportunity, distancing himself from such activity. But, while the stream of tweets he has written are informative and certainly not centred on self-promotion, his profile advertises t-shirts carrying the slogan ‘I tweeted Stephen Fry and all I got was this luxurious T-shirt’. Whether this is post-modern irony or just bad is open to interpretation. What is certainly the case is that most people, those who use Twitter for sales included, have to work a lot harder than that for their money.

In a recent appearance on Jonathan Ross’s chat show, Fry tried a couple of times to change the subject when Twitter was raised - perhaps already realising that his volume of fans was becoming unmanageable. If the intention was to limit the tidal wave of new Fry followers in the hope of saving any sense of intimacy, the 150,000 new members since the interview would suggest that it has failed.

Probably, one of the options left to Stephen Fry would be to employ someone to manage his account, something one senses would be too ostentatious for him. He could just provide tweets and ignore the replies and messages that come his way (as other celebrities do), or to stop tweeting altogether. I suspect the latter is unlikely, as where else could he revel in messages such as one posted under his recent photograph of a Mexican Burger King – ‘Mayonnaise repulses me as it is the devil’s seaman’. (sic) Ahoy there Lucifer!

My Twitter Page

Original Abstracts & Photography

2009-03-03T13:41:00.014Z

Thankfully, we have found what we are best at - designing and printing canvas art via espiritoart.com. But we have also tried a few other techniques in the past, with varying degrees of success. Having viewed an uninspiring exhibition at the Baltic Arts Center, we decided that it couldn't be too hard to produce attractive, original abstract art on canvas - rather than use the digital art packages we were used to.

This prompted purchase of canvases, brushes and paint, and a day was set aside to quickly achieve artistic perfection by our own hands. What followed gave us a greater respect for painters, no matter how simplistic their abstract creations appear. The sum total of two people over a period of 5 hours each was this, untitled masterpiece: -

Although it may be tempting to think so, we can promise than no teabags or bodily fluids were used in the creation of this... this.... well, whatever it is. Thankfully, we never repeated this experiment so the world's worst painters can rest easy at their easels that nobody is about to take their crown. We're going to stick with canvas art.

We have had greater success with photography, using many of the shots we have taken for the basis of our Global Scenes collection, which features different takes on some of the world's famous places and most beautiful cities. True, the great Milan robbery of 2007 did set this back a little as along with stolen laptops, the camera too was passed in the possession of Milanese street villians.

Freshly furnished with a new camera, we've been concentrating on building up stock photography for use in the canvas art commissions we receive.

One such trip was made just yesterday, for some closeups of beaches, pebbles and rockpools. These are useful either when clients want a specific request (and you'd be surprised what is asked for!), or just as textures to use as the basis of our canvas art prints. Occasionally a shot will come out realy well and be transferred to our Contemporary World collection for customers to purchase as a canvas print.

Yesterday's trip was a little problematic as despite being a matter of five miles away, I managed to miss the coast, and ended up on a road going inland. By the I got the car pointed in the right direction, I'd gone too far north and was just south of Amble. Given the approaching night, I took advantage of the deserted stretch of Northumberland coastline to lie on the beach pretending to be a professional photographer taking unusual angles.

This quickly progressed to a very relaxing and theraputic activity, stacking pebbles up like prehistoric man. Looking at the results, well, at least the original objective of stock photos and textures was achieved, coupled to lots of fresh air courtesy of an artic wind! Now perhaps a little more work is needed, but you have to agree - the photography is better than the original art!

New addition to fine art canvas collection coming soon

2009-03-02T18:33:00.004Z

Unusually for a site printing and selling canvas art, we already offer fine art giclée prints on canvas. Although digital art is available through us, the same printing processes can be applied to fine art - once it has been scanned on a large format scanner. We have fine art prints available from prominent UK artist Stephen Warnes, and will shortly add another - 'Deep in the Night', to our collection. This depends on a visit to a specialist scanning company with a machine big enough to scan this extremely large painting (over 1m square): -

We also have a number of new landscapes from Stephen Warnes hot off the press from a company in Scotland that handles smaller pictures, so we're just running colour tests on canvas to check the scan quality and then we'll have these ready too.

Top Seven Free Artist Profiling Sites

2009-03-01T17:51:00.009Z

In the process of setting up, launching and promoting canvas art site espiritoart.com, we have used a number of art profiling / art networking sites, with varying degrees of success. What follows is by no means a definitive list based on extensive research - but is a reflection of what we have found to be useful in gaining web traffic, contacts and enquiries.

As with all social and business networking, the more you put into it the more you get out, and when using these sites, we have focussed more attention on some than others. However, first impressions count, and we've put more into those networking sites that proved easy to use, and started generating interest in our canvas art early on.

1) DeviantArt - Very large online community with great opportunities to interact and get your artwork seen. Friendly, young audience that has generated over 15,000 visits to our artworks in less than 3 months. Useful statistics are available on your artworks and main artist's page.

2) FineArtAmerica - Not exlusively for America, and appears to attract more visitors intent on looking for art to buy, as opposed to artists looking to display their portfolios. Good weekly update on your visitors, together with their location.

3) ArtWanted - Easy to use site, with lively online community always ready to provide useful (or useless but very complimentary!) comments on your artwork.

4) RedBubble - Nice looking site and lots of opportunity to enter your work into contents or to feature your art on group pages. Only let down a little by endless updates from the groups you enter (e.g. x artwork by y artist has been featured in z group), which can be annoying if you're in several groups.

5) Saatchi - If the statistics on the main page are correct (sorry, but who does that now!), this is an exceptionally well visited site, and certainly profiles an incredible number of artists. Although serious enquiries have come from this portal, it is really let down by very poor web design making navigation a real pain. Art 'showdowns', where visitors rate work and winners are exhibited in Saatchi galleries are a highlight.

6) PaintingsILove - A relatively small networking site for artists, with a very friendly community. Not the most stunning of web designs but easy to use with a 5 star rating system for visitors which can give you some interesting feedback on your work if you have a large porfolio.

7) ArtSlant - In our experience, relatively quiet on the interaction front, but a nicely programmed slideshow featuring prominently on your page.

An important factor in all of these sites is of course, the fact that they are all free to use, making the ability to link back to your site and promote your artwork only dependent on the time you can spend doing it.

Where else to find out about espiritoart

2009-02-24T15:22:00.004Z

If this blog wasn't enough (and we realise until there's more here - it might not be!), we regularly update espiritoart.com with other articles specific to artists and canvas art lovers.

Today the site has been updated with a list of the top 5 best selling canvas art prints, which was an interesting project and one that threw up a few surprises. We've also got information on our fine artist Stephen Warnes, with a special article on the landscape prints available through us. And there's also a feature on our exhibition of canvas art at the Artworks Gallery, Newcastle Upon Tyne.

Incidentally, rather than the promised 'hair tips', Andy will shortly be chronicling the saga of Milan in full, in all its gory details. It may have pushed the launch of the business back a few months, but ultimately we came up with better canvas art designs. So we can all laugh at the idiots who wandered around Milan at 3am with laptops (yes... that's us).

Tips for artists to increase their exposure online

2009-02-23T18:15:00.002Z

We've been busy with Squidoo, a fast, free way to build web pages on any topic - compiling some tips for artists who want to use the internet to increase their popularity by attracting online visitors.

Two articles have been put together to benefit producers of canvas art or any type of visual artist. Firstly, a general tips article discussing the benefit to an artist of showing their work correctly, social networking, using online forums and art profiling sites - Tips for Artists to Increase Online Exposure.

The second article goes into more specific detail on one the most useful and popular art profiling sites, deviantArt. This teaches artists several tricks and strategies that can be put into practice to increase visitors to your artwork - Tips for Artists on Using deviantArt to Increase Online Exposure.

These articles go some way to describe the just some of the approaches taken to promote the canvas art on espiritoart.com.

An intro to espiritoart canvas art

2009-02-23T11:52:00.014Z

Andy Ward and Matt Warnes started espiritoart.com in the middle of 2007 and have been creating canvas art since that time. Now, with over 100 art prints in an original range available on the website, the business is progressing steadily. Matt's dad Stephen Warnes, a fine artist, is also on board - with some of his most popular giclée canvas prints also on sale and proving to be very popular with art lovers.

It has been an interesting journey so far, with both artists having to learn techniques and create their own individual canvas art style. Not prepared to compromise, this means that for every canvas art print that made the cut, at least 10 were discarded. And it hasn't all been plain sailing, when the first draft of the website was created in late 2007, a celebratory trip to Italy turned to disaster when two laptops were stolen which contained the entire canvas art range. Nowadays, backups are the order of the day! The full story of that ridiculous trip will be revealed one day - it had it all, police stations, chases through Milan streets and a stay in the oasis that was Florence's British Consulate. Anyway, that's for another day.

The latest printing technologies are used to ensure the highest product quality and many satisfied box canvas customers will testify that nothing is left to chance when it comes to quality standards. Our canvas prints are shrink wrapped prior to shipping, making them ideal for artists to include in their exhibitions for resale, as well as adding that touch of quality if you are giving canvas art as a gift.

I hate to sign off on a disappointing note, but those reading this expecting 'Andy's expert hair tips' will just have to wait.

Welcome to the espiritoart blog

2009-02-22T14:25:00.003Z

Espiritoart.com is a new website offering canvas art and fine art giclée prints on canvas, together with a range of art commission services. We may be novices at blogging but we don't intend just to plug our own products all the time! There will be advice for artists using the internet as a platform to promote their work, links to exciting artists, art news and maybe even some commentary on the world though espiritoart eyes.

So, before we go off to read up on making an effective blog, thank you for checking us out and hello!

Matt