DUA LIPA'S TINY DESK CONCERTS

Dua Lipa’s Tiny Desk concert at home in between covid lockdowns in 2020 is the most watched Tiny Desk concert ever.

Which doesn’t surprise me at all as we must have watched it literally hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

My little boy absolutely loved it, and even me and big kid secretly liked it, too.

Love Again is my favourite.

She’s just performed a new concert at Tiny Desk HQ, and it’s also very watchable and listenable, with These Walls the standout track.

Love this coffee.

Took a couple of weeks to get used to it after the previous regular one they sent me (which was a Columbian " Milk chocolate").

Overcome space and all we have left is here. Overcome time and all we have left is now.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach 📚

ON JOURNALING

I wrote this a week ago.

My last journal was over a week ago, last Saturday.

I’ve had a week off work with a really bad cough, wheezing, shortness of breath. Generally feeling better these last couple of days, but also still coughing. Last two days I had coughing fits in the afternoons leaving me dizzy, and exhausted. I haven’t slept well some nights either, due to coughing, wheezing and breathlessness.

But sitting here right now, I feel as good as I have done in two weeks or more.

Time off from work has allowed me to go through 90 days of journal entries to categorise and summarise them, and then outline or tease out the key themes or ideas in each area of interest. Why? Well, 1) what are all these journal entries for? I mean, I get the process, but am I missing out on something greater? 2) Lots of people publish weekly summaries and some people like reading them. But why?

I think I get it now. Doing this work has made sense of a lot of daily, weekly and monthly events, habits, routines, scenarios, relationships, that otherwise would have remained loosely connected, strung together like the Christmas lights every year when you take them out of the box you left them in in January. In a mess, tangled up, half working. Better than nothing, but a lot of stress.

And another surprising fact. While I started - and soon stopped - journaling in March, then restarted in August, I had wondered if spending the time to write in a private journal would take away from writing for my blog? Actually (and unsurprisingly, really) the opposite has occurred. I have written more than ever, privately and publicly.

I’ve also generally felt better in myself, although I’ve still had my usual ups and downs, and I’m still quite easily uplifted and dragged down.

It’s also made me realise I do a lot more things than I imagined, and do them OK.

It’s helped me to better understand some of my relationships, particularly with family.

I’m reading more, and listening to music more.

It would be useful (although perhaps less fun)to do the same exercise with my work journal. (41 pages, 46 days).

244 pages over 90 days for my personal journal.

Unfortunately, I haven’t journaled since.

JON BATISTE'S TINY DESK CONCERT

Jon Batiste, like Alicia Keys, is a supremely talented musician and performer. This is another must watch Tiny Desk concert from 2019.

This is another video my little kid enjoyed watching, singing along to (before he could talk), and dancing to with his big brother (before falling asleep).

Don’t it make your soul shake?

ALICIA KEYS' TINY DESK CONCERT

If you haven’t seen and listened to Alicia Keys' Tiny Desk concert (Feb 2020) then I highly recommend that you do, even if - or especially if - you think she’s not your thing.

This is a video my little kid loved to sing along to before falling asleep for a mid-day or afternoon nap.

We all just wanna be shown some love

My first attempt at a very simple recipe my Mum used to make fifty years ago.

Little kid: “I like onion and cheese [crisps]!”

Me: “Cheese and onion pie?”

Little kid: " Eugh!"

LIVING AND BREATHING

I have vague memories of seeing Florence + The Machine on the BBC at Glastonbury, possibly in 2009. She was the big new thing, breathlessly jumping around all over the place, climbing up the gantry, as she showcased her debut album Lungs.

Lungs album cover photoshoot stills - Tom Beard 2009

Or maybe it was 2015. Ship To Wreck sounds so familiar and like it would have caught my ear.

All very dramatic, elemental, and possibly not quite my thing more generally at those particular times. I didn’t pay much attention then or since.

By then, I’d fallen out of love with life, not just music. In recent years, I’ve rediscovered music, and life, and this week Florence + The Machine.

My little kid is 4 ½ years old. He’s obsessed with space at the moment. When he was younger, and still napping in the day, we found that he enjoyed falling asleep to a variety of music videos on YouTube. Mostly videos of music I liked. I don’t know how that happened!

At one time he really enjoyed some of the NPR Tiny Desk concerts - bands playing stripped down acoustic or semi-acoustic fifteen minute sets on a tiny office stage in front of a small audience.

Two he really liked were Alicia Keys and Jon Batiste - which weren’t my choices (well, they were my choices, but now I had permission to choose them), but I grew to love them, too. It’s hard not love such amazing musicianship, singing and songs, all performed with unconfined joy in the moment. My son got it. So did I.

One he wasn’t so keen on, but I enjoyed, was Florence + The Machine’s Tiny Desk performance. Usually so full of bombast, almost over-produced, and perfect for rocking out stadium tours, this was vulnerable and exposed. Two voices, a harp, acoustic guitar and keyboard. Three perfect songs.

I really tried to listen to more, the album versions, but I still couldn’t get into them.

This week, with my focus on my own personal breathlessness and lung history, and still thinking about another Machine entirely, I tried again. I still couldn’t do it, not fully. I now liked the album versions of the Tiny Desk songs, but the rest washed over me. I read more about the band, the albums, reviews, trying to understand why people like them so much.

Then last night, I finally got it. I cant explain why, exactly. Maybe it’s just familiarity. Probably it’s paying attention. As with many things in life, you sometimes have to make an effort to learn to appreciate things and develop a taste (or ear) for them.

Each breath screaming / ‘We are all too young to die,'” Welch sings in the chorus of “Between Two Lungs"

I do wonder also, though, if sometimes songs speak to me even when I’m not actively listening? I’ve always been useless at remembering lyrics. Not great for singing songs in a band. But the songs I love for the music, the energy, the tunes… When I do pay attention to the words, sometimes years later, they do carry meaning for me (even if that’s not necessarily what the song is actually about). They just needed to be heard. That’s the beauty of it.

No more gasping for a breath
The air has filled me head-to-toe
And I can see the ground far below
I have this breath and I hold it tight
And I keep it in my chest with all my might
I pray to god this breath will last

I recently read: How to Write One Song by Jeff Tweedy (of the band Wilco) 📚.

It’s full of practical if fairly obvious tips on how to write and get your creative muscles going.

Here’s a poem I wrote based on two books I regularly read to my little kid at bedtime.

Three days of feeling relatively well. Today I’m coughing, wheezing, short of breath again. Feel shot.

This went down well with the missus!

This lovely tree by the bridge over the canal near my kids' school at Toplocks is gone.

The air outside is thick with the smell of tar and vehicle emissions.

Not doing my cough any good.

It’s so cold this morning, when I got back from dropping the kids at school I had to do the washing up just to warm my hands up.

Starmer is proving to be every bit as reckless and depraved as Johnson.

Yesterday’s Mac* ‘n’ Cheese went down well with me and big kid. It’s one of his favourites.

*Penne

Wife reckons she has kidney failure due to her high blood pressure. She says her kidneys are due to expire in 2074.

SAUSAGES

Lincolnshire sausages are the finest sausages you can get.

I remember as a boy, fifty years ago, my grandmother making sausages at home for the local butcher. Sometimes, she would let me feed the sausage meat into the machine and then turn the handle to push it through into the skins.

A special treat then was boiled sausages for breakfast. The skins would fall off, and we ate them with white bread soaked in the soup or broth they created in the pan along with a dash of English mustard.

In later years, my Mum would travel to Boston in south Lincolnshire from her home in north Lincolnshire specially to buy sausages from the butcher who made the best Lincolnshire sausages.

She would freeze them and pack me off with ten or twelve wrapped in old newspaper whenever I came back to visit from university or when I first moved to Manchester and then London.

I haven’t had a proper Lincolnshire sausage for many years now. The ones we get now are made in Hampshire. They’re nice enough, better than any other variety of supermarket sausage I’ve tried, but you wouldn’t want to boil them.

They’re pretty versatile. They’re great with mashed potatoes and gravy, in a special Valentine’s casserole, in a Yorkshire pudding, with xmas dinner wrapped in bacon, in a bread finger roll with (or without) onions and ketchup, in a sandwich or, as my kids like to eat them, cold on their own in the bath after school.

Wife is making plans for my imminent demise.

Always look as far ahead as possible

Now they want me to have a blood test (routine annual test for diabetes).

I hate blood tests, though, and occasionally pass out. I missed last year’s.

Damn. Felt much better yesterday since starting antibiotics on Monday evening, no coughing and a decent sleep last night.

This morning I’m coughing again, though. Maybe triggered by the cold air on the school run?

MACHINE OF INTEREST

I asked The Machine to review my review of Person of Interest

Transcript

Only time I saw Richard Branson in the flesh he was parading around in stockings and suspenders entertaining children. #Virgin

GOT CARTER

I started watching Person of Interest almost three months ago thanks to a recommendation from Hippy Steve. Obviously I’m about thirteen years after everyone else, as it first aired in 2011. At that time, I was busy singing songs about one J Carter….

Person of Interest is a post 9/11 surveillance thriller, although I still think my initial impression of the first episode - Minority Report meets Police Squad! wasn’t far off. After watching two and a half seasons, I’d add a good old dollop of Reservoir Dogs into the mix.

Luckily for me, the whole five seasons was free to watch on Amazon Prime, with just a thirty second ad break halfway through each episode.

The basic premise for the show is that we are surrounded by cameras recording our every move. The US government wanted to create an automatic means of harnessing all this information for the greater good - preventing terror attacks on its territory.

The creator of this artificial intelligence - known as The Machine - now has sole access to it. And he is using it to prevent not just terror attacks, but also everyday attacks on ordinary people. People who the government were never interested in because they were irrelevant to national security.

Finch, who is obviously the brains of the operation, hires some brawn - Reese - to do the dangerous work of physically intervening to prevent daily murders. In fact, Finch rescues Reese from whisky-fuelled vagrancy after his former life as a CIA special agent has fallen apart, and offers him redemption. He’s still a hired hitman, but he doesn’t have to kill anyone anymore, just save them from murder.

People don’t change, but they can make good decisions

Luckily there’s only one murder a day, and Reese is just as capable sloshed, slashed, shot, and tied up. He’s the human embodiment of The Machine - Superman, infallible, with all the (ir)relevant information fed to him by Finch via an earpiece and every conceivable weapon, perfect timing and lucky escape available to him, along with miraculous recovery from injury.

Between them, they are all-seeing, all-knowing, and omnipresent, and the recipient of mysterious cryptic phone calls revealing the social security number of the next murder victim or perpetrator.

Soon we start meeting new regular characters. The would-be mob boss working undercover as a shy, socially conscious high school teacher in the toughest area in town. The police homicide detective (one J Carter) looking for “The man in the suit” - Reese - who keeps being seen at the scene of the incredible deaths of various villains. The corrupt police officers (dirty cops known collectively as HR) who protect and serve themselves and their criminal and mob friends. Including Fusco, who is assigned to work with Carter, and recruited by Reese as an inside source and dirty worker.

You can’t run from the past forever, but love is real

Season Two is definitely a cut above Season One. The characters are more rounded, there are more of them, their interactions and back stories are playing out and getting entangled. Finch and Fusco have, or had, love lives. Reese is looking out for Carter even though she’s still officially hunting him. Reese acquires a killer Dutch dog called Bear and keeps him as a pet to protect Finch from the mysterious and powerful root who has been watching everything he does and who wants access to The Machine.

Then, out of the blue, halfway through S2, I can’t watch it anymore! Not without parting with £17.99! But by now I’m hooked, watching an episode almost every evening. £17.99 gets me the information that it was Finch who ordered Reese and his duplicitous CIA partner to be killed in China, and sociopath Shaw joins the team after her old boss Control tried to kill her. My old boss’s doppelganger turns up in one episode as a serial killer identity thief in a good old-fashioned Columbo episode where everyone is stuck on an island in the middle of a hurricane, and everyone except the killer is a suspect until it’s (almost) too late. Fusco killed his old dirty cop partner Stills and buried him in the woods.

Carter and Bear dig up Stills' body to save Fusco’s ass

Finch gets captured by root. She wants to set The Machine free. It turns out Finch programmed The Machine to forget everything at the end of every day in an act of self-deletion. root seems to have some kind of connection with The Machine and sees it as a living organism.

In Season Three, Carter brings down HR, including HR’s chief henchman and all round bad guy Simmons. Or does she? No, she doesn’t. He’s somehow still alive. It’s getting silly.

Reese’s number is up. By now, he’s in love with Carter, and she’s in love with him. She dies in his arms, shot in the chest by the evil Simmons, who escapes yet again. Simmons brutally tortures the now extremely likeable Fusco, breaking three of his fingers before sentencing both Fusco and his young son to death. Shaw manages to save Fusco’s son, but she can’t be in two places at once….

Dirty cop turned hero

Somehow, Fusco manages to free his ties and garrote his executioner before he can pull the trigger. Then he finds a strangely unarmed Simmons before he can fly to safety. But instead of shooting him, or even arresting him, he first decides to fist fight him with three broken fingers. Bear in mind that Simmons is hard as nails, and Fusco is short, fat, and a bit of a softie at heart.

Against all the odds, Fusco wins and takes cop-killer Simmons in.

After Carter’s death, Reese goes AWOL and back on the bottle. Fusco finds him out west and they end up in a slapstick brawl in the rain. Meanwhile, Finch and Shaw are captured by the evil Control and her evil Odd Bod henchman Hersh, but miraculously saved by root (who by now had been captured and caged by Finch).

I got bored

Halfway through S3 I gave up. Reese and Fusco miraculously saved Finch and Shaw, who were themselves captured by Vigilance (a violent pro-privacy campaign group), then Hersh. root was captured by Control and brutally tortured, but somehow managed to escape, turn the tables and then save everyone.

I haven’t mentioned the mysterious, sinister and extremely evil elderly Englishman who seemed to be running the whole show (actually the show’s creator’s grandfather in real life), who managed to look like death and worse than Michael Gambon in The Singing Detective.

If you like guns, shooting people, torture, (mock) executions, (child) kidnapping, (attempted) murder, blackmail, gambling, Russian Roulette, cyber-stalking, identity theft, mob rule and police corruption, you’ll probably like Person of Interest. I was into it for around fifty or so episodes, but it became too much, too repetitive, too cliched. They killed off the only J Carter, and I can’t have that, even if J Bezos has another £17.99 from me.