Slightly Askew

Born To Run at Latitude 2009

Tweet this post.

Pic by andrew_mrt1976

Many moons before J. K. Rowling was telling stories to illiterate Britain about a strange world with wizards, Terry Pratchett’s first Discworld novel – The Colour of Magic – was published.

But if you’re not a fan of fantasy, don’t let the wizards, dragons and treasure chests with legs put you off picking up one of his books.

Because Terry Pratchett is far from just a fantasy writer; he’s probably more of social commentator. The many tribes in the Discworld represent religions, cultures, and factions of society in our real – and often, more absurd – world.

A dwarf is not necessarily just a dwarf.

His wit is razor sharp – perhaps too sharp for most – but once you hit his groove, every page presents a quip that’s worthy of a chortle. Terry Pratchett made me realise how fucking great books can be.

And then, in December 2007, Pratchett told the world he had a rare form of early onset Alzheimer’s. I cannot comprehend how scary it must be to be told that your soundest of minds is, well, going to be far from sound.

Yet, in typical Pratchett fashion, he described the diagnosis as an embuggerance. And then he went on the attack; determined to raise the profile of this cruel, cruel disease that – in his words – strips away your living self, bit by bit.

And today was all about good news (and another chance to boost the awareness of Alzheimer’s). Liz got her sword out and knighted the now Sir Terry Pratchett.

A splendid decision methinks.

Tweet this post.

Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination.

Devour films, music, books, paintings, poems, photographs, conversations, dreams, trees, architecture, street signs, clouds, light and shadows.

Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic.

Authenticity is invaluable.

Originality is non-existent.

Don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it.

Remember what Jean-Luc Goddard said: ‘It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.’

I stole this from Paul Arden. He stole it from Jim Jarmusch. And I stole the photo of Banksy’s Rat from Paul Stevenson.

Tweet this post.

10. Bruce Willis
You’re no doubt aware that Armageddon is the greatest film of all time. And that’s in no small part due to the genius of Bruce Willis; a true luminary walking amongst the fodder of Affleck. “Daddy! Daddy, no!” cries sexy Liv. I cried. I’m sure you did too.

9. Dr Bruce Banner
Depending on how old you are, The Incredible Hulk (green-coloured chap; quite angry) is a
- Comic book hero, without the incredible.
- Classic Saturday afternoon telly programme, like Highway to Heaven.
- Shit CGI film.

8. Bruce, Loose, Aboot This Hoose
I’m not even sorry. Go!

7. Alex Bruce
Ipswich Town defender of little repute.

6. Steve Bruce
Father of Alex. Me and my girlfriend were once in a lift with father and son. It was a chilly New Year’s Eve in 2006. When we reached the ground floor, son tried to exit the lift before my girlfriend. Father told him in no uncertain terms to wait for the lady. I won’t be dining out on that story for long.

5. Ken Bruce
Meh, not as good as Wogan.

4. Bruce Lee
So yeah… he makes a good statue and an ‘edgy’ student poster. But has anyone actually seen Fist of Fury? Does anyone really care? Not me. Double meh.

3. Fiona Bruce
It’s probably wrong to ogle newsreaders, but that’s the beauty of it.

2. Bruce Forsyth
Deserving of a knighthood, Brucie is the king of light entertainment. Okay, so his jokes are bad, and I hope his dancing isn’t as painful for him as it is for me, but give the fella a break – he’s 80. If I reach 80, the only funny thing about me will be the smell.

1. Bruce Springsteen
My friends laugh at me because I like The Boss.
I laugh at them because they don’t.

Tweet this post.

Some time last year when Springsteen’s show at the O2 Arena sold out in milliseconds and bastardface ticketmaster timed out on me, I gave up hope of ever seeing the great man perform in the flesh.

Last friday (30th May), however, yours truly got a second bite at the cherry.

Yup, not content at seeing The Boss a few days before my twenty-sixth birthday, in Anaheim, California, me and my old man went to watch the Emirates Stadium be “baptised”.

The E Street Band’s first night in London was the first ever gig at Arsenal football club’s beautiful new home.

You either get Bruce Springsteen or you don’t.  If you don’t, that’s your problem. I’m not going to pander to your idiocy.

Anyway, at around 7.45, the house rockin’, pants droppin’, earth shockin’, hard rockin’, booty shakin’, love makin’, heart breakin’, soul cryin’, death defyin’ legendary E Street Band walked onto a bare stage - no fireworks, no light fantastic, no introductory video.  This was about the music.

Three hour flashed by.  From Tenth Avenue Freeze Out to American Land, I watched and sung my inferior lungs out as Springsteen gave a lesson on why:

1. They call him The Boss
2. Everything else is completely shit in comparison

Sadly, they’re not getting younger.  Danny Federici - the band’s organist - died of cancer in April.  (If you have the time, I suggest you read Springsteen’s eulogy to Danny on the website.)

They may never play these shores again, but it really doesn’t matter.  What they’ve given us is more than enough.

If you don’t know where to start, start with Darkness on the Edge of Town.  Then let your heart lead you.  It’s worth the journey.

Tweet this post.

I got some tickets to see The Boss at the Emirates Stadium off Ebay.  A bargain, I think.  Although they haven’t arrived yet, so I shall reserve judgement.  The last time I saw the great man, he played Thunder Road first.  If Heaven exists, I imagine it sounds like those first tinkling piano chords.

I’m watching less and less television as I approach twenty-six-and-a-half.  So when I do choose to watch it, I generally avoid ITV.  Two independent sources told about some dancing dog on Britain’s Got Talent though, so I had to resort to YouTube.  I wasn’t disappointed.

Tweet this post.

Spine-tingling.

Tweet this post.

Eternal thanks to Jenny O for this.

Tweet this post.

I was eight during Italia 90.  I knew all the words to John Barnes’s rap in World in Motion.  I possibly still do.

Memories are just like heroes: not to be forgotten.

Get well soon Gazza.

Tweet this post.