The Little Things.

So I decided to stay here in Spain this July, on a mission to isolate a little, get healthy, enjoy the sun and write my book. The sun's beautiful, the health is up-and-down (I'm running again, but all too infrequently) and the book is... well, I'm having trouble, but it's a good challenge. If I can get a first draft by the end of the year, I'll call it a success.

The isolation's a bit of a downer though, and I've succumbed to cabin fever a little. Very much looking forward to some good times in Sheffield next month. Still, though, there are those little things here that keep me happy. Like a pint glass full of ice, then two-thirds orange juice and one-third water. Gotta keep my fluids up in this heat and god-damn it's the most refreshing way. I'd drink this all day if I didn't mind acid poisoning and death by fruit sugar.

There's also the simple joy of stumbling upon a little game like Within A Deep Forest.

It's a real beauty, this one. The mechanic's a doddle: you're a ball. That's pretty much it. You bounce your way around a beautifully-designed landscape full of pretty vistas and little critters, finding new materials to transform into, so you can bounce higher or break wooden barriers to open up new, surprising, gorgeous-looking levels. The level of challenge is just right, and as I type I'm itching to give it another playthrough. In fact, off I go. Off to jounce about with my yoga ball as the gentle, sparkling soundtrack burbles happily away. Back into a Deep Forest.

Just play it, please.

Ballet? Vale...

Last night was a first for me. I was invited by my good friends Charlie and Alicia to go and see a show: I was expecting a play, but it turned out our entertainment for the night was to be ballet. Yes, ballet. This is not a normal Saturday night for me. It was, however, remarkable in many ways.

Firstly, it took place here:

This is the Patio de Armas in the Castillo de Niebla, in a village about half an hour from Huelva. The big square nearest the camera in that picture was set up with maybe a thousand seats, all facing towards a basic but impressively large stage. Whatever you may think of ballet, taking in a show after sunset in a place like that is quite an experience.

The show itself was called Samsara, and here is a promo. Interspersed with projections of pretentious and/or profound quotes from the Dalai Lama and friends, there were maybe a dozen dances of five to fifteen minutes. I thought the costume design and music were both really good throughout, but there were three parts to it that really stayed in the memory, for good and bad reasons.

Beginning.

We opened with the cast of ballerinas (and ballerinos?) dressed in white gis, slowly performing Tai-chi movements while a video montage of the sins of the world (9/11, mass graves, army manouevres) spooled behind them and a melodic buddhist chant droned and modulated. Pretentious, yes, but I have to admit I was spellbound. There was real grace in the movement and the music was truly beautiful, always shifting, never settling, but sticking to a handful of notes. This is the point where I sat back and resolved to give the show a shot. Ballet? No problem.

Burkas.

You'll see some of this if you watch the video. The longest section of the show opened with the female dancers shrouded in Burkas, and it started with a small spotlight on their hooded faces gently shifting from foreground to background - it was unsettling and quite arresting. However, things took a turn for the slightly uncomfortable as from the throng emerged one dancer without the burka, clearly meant to symbolise a "free" woman. She leapt and bounded but was caught by the others, who through the medium of dance attacked her and dragged her down. They did some elaborate motions, meaphorically striking her and trapping her, and compared to the actual proper dancing it looked tacky and am-dram. Next emerged two men in white shirts, who danced together and clearly represented a gay couple - it wasn't erotic or gratuitous, in fact it was stoic and emotional. Again, the burkas (now joined by black-clad alpha males) came for them, and did some more of the stupid hitting dances. And that was about it. That was the "Muslim" bit of the show's tour of Asian dance. Now, I like art to make a political statement, but in this case the statement was "Muslims don't like liberated women or homosexuals". Thanks for that, folks. Care to venture anything further? I'm sure the intentions were good, but all I took away from the set-piece was a feeling of clunky Islamophobia. A great shame.

Bird.

One moment, though, absolutely blew me away. It was a solo dance by one of the men, and I found myself pretty bored, so just listened to the nice music and waited for the next part. Then, right at the end of his dance, he did something amazing. With the orange light projected behind him fading slowly, he stood centre stage, facing out, and leapt into the air, giving a mighty flap of his arms. Again, a leap, and a flap. And I realised that we were watching a mighty bird fly into the desert sunset. The snap of his arms and the carefully-judged parabola of the jump created the exact geometry of that shot we've all seen in nature documentaries. It was utterly uncanny, and brilliantly achieved. Well done that dancing man.

So I quite enjoyed the ballet. And then I went home and ate a steak and punched a wall, just to feel good and secure in my masculinity.

Back. No, Really

So, as happens to all ambitious and pretentious blogs, I let this one slide. Bad call, as I really enjoyed writing the updates, trying to squeeze some textual goodness out of my experiences.

One reason I didn't start up again is that I joined twitter. They call it "microblogging", and that's true: it's smaller and easier than actually putting thoughts together over a paragraph. It's well-designed, fun, and rather addictive. God help me if I ever get an iPhone.

Now, as I sit here on my sofa, having tried to sleep but been beaten back by my occasional insomnia demons, I feel it's the right time to start the blog proper again. This is largely because I'm trying to write a book at the moment, and failing miserably. I've got a plot, characters, events, and even an exciting ending, but I can't discipline myself to knuckle down and put the words on the page. The marvellous Richard Herring has for a long time been blogging daily to help with the writing process for his books and live shows, so I suppose there's no harm in imitating the process. Over the summer, I'll try to discipline myself and report on how the book's going. And, of course, I'll write lists of my favourite things and tell you why they're brilliant, for what is a blog but a projection of opinions onto others. It's not like I'm covering an election.

Much love, and follow me on twitter!

Not Dead!

But my laptop was. Now I have a new one! Apologies for lack of updates - if there's anyone left to apologies to, of course. Hopefully some updates about Cadiz, Cordoba, Catholics and Laurie Lee soon. Love yous.

Telly Is Back.

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

Where would I be without the internet? I've posted before about the sheer badness of Spanish telly, and it's gone past the point where I can watch it with a sort of snooty ironic detachment (except for Pasapalabra, but that's another story). Thank god, then, for TV via the internet, and for the big unctuous spurt of joy that the new year is bringing.

First up,the new Battlestar Galactica is back for the last time. I love this show, mainly because it's so utterly perverse and obverse and not-what-should-be. Surely huge-budget long-form American Sci-Fi should be packed full of young, beautiful heroes running around in spaceships, always beating the aliens, then making with the witty puns as they all drink space-beer and fall in love? Y'know, like Buffy or something?
Instead, it's spent the course of its four seasons getting dark, bleak, and genuinely unsettling. Last week's premiere was 45 minutes of depression and disillusionment for pretty much every single character. This show, which started with a holocaust, gave us another one in flashback. There was a suicide. Two old men, one drunk, both suicidal, talked about foxes drowning out at sea. Even the extras were in despair, fighting in the corridors of the Galactica. The soundtrack droned and wailed. It was fucking brilliant.

On a much lighter note, we're now blessed with QI again. I've been getting the extended Saturday-night versions from UKNova, letting my brain sink into a soothing sponge-like state as Stephen Fry reels off popular misconceptions in gaps between Sean Lock's (peerless) dick jokes. I know a lot of people can't stand Fry, and even more are vehement enemies of Alan Davies (fair, maybe, as he only really ever does one thing, but he's smart enough to do it on a show where it works) but I love it. The BBC took a tired format, gave it a twist, and just let it run. Not comedy gold, maybe, but at the very least comedy yttrium.

Finally, the most utterly-stupid-but-somehow-fantastic show on the planet, Lost, returned this week. I'm posting this before watching the two-part season opener, because I want to be enthusiastic about telly today, and Lost is so hit-and-miss that it could well be total shit-on-a-stick. Still, it's got a definite end date now, so we'll get these fabled "answers" sooner or later. It's like the barmiest choose-your-own-adventure book ever ("To turn the magic donkey wheel and make the island disappear, turn to page 56), and I don't have total faith that it'll end satisfactorily, but at least the writers have to try, and it'll be fun to watch them. Right?

Between these, Okami on the Wii and the rest of my Doctor Who DVDs, I am covered for audiovisual treats this term. I'll need it, too, because it's going to be a bitch.

















Updating soon: This man, €180,000 and a baguette sandwich. Stay well, amigos.

Back To School.

So I'm on this Young Learners course now. It's paid for by my generous and excellent bosses, and it's all friendly and well-run, but I'm a bit daunted at the prospect of teaching 22 hours and doing loads of "homework" too. It'll be useful as fuck, and probably a lot of fun with my fellow teachers, but I'm still a bit freaked out at this term's workload. Sometimes I just want to shout "Help! I'm new! I can't do 20 things at once yet! Leave me alone!". And the rest of the time I'm sort of on top of it, so we'll see how it goes.

There is one excellent thing about the course, though, and that's its website. It's just really nicely organised, and has everything there, and encourages discussion, and the design is kind of tactile, and really nice and intuitive. It's a lovely website, and it's the kind of thing I'd love to be able to use for the teen classes. A blog, a wiki, an interactive homework record site: these are the reasons I wish I learned computer science. It'll get easier to develop these things, I'm sure, and (at the risk of sounding like a Sci-Fi fan) I wouldn't want to be teaching in the 21st century without them. Takes a bit of work, is all.

The Cash Machine.

---
SCENE 1/1

INTERIOR, cash-machine lobby of Spanish Bank [closed for evening].

[Joe queues up for big yellow multi-purpose bank machine. Man in front finishes transaction and exits. Joe approaches]

BANK MACHINE: [in heavy Andaluz accent] Momentito, por favor.

JOE: [confused]

[BANK MACHINE flashes red lights and makes internal whirring noises as Joe looks around for a tecnichian or any visible sign of a bank employee. There is none. There is only a bank machine.]

BANK MACHINE: [stops whirring] Bueno.

JOE: [confused] Er... gracias?
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I may be losing my mind. Thank god it's nearly Friday.