Currently on repeat (thx, Todd):
Love me some unabashedly silly glam-rock from, erm, 2003.
Hello. Iâve done some things in the past month and a half. They were alright.
Not sure how i feel about the ethics of CGI Harold Ramis, mindâŚ
One of the more surprising results of the recent investigation into Big Borisâs lockdown conduct was the unearthing of a playlist used to motivate employees during their completely ordinary work events. Highlights include:
This list of songs, no doubt, absolves the government of any kind of wrongdoing.
Just a month or so after Arwen, another storm has decided to come over here and mess things up â this time Storm Malik (no relation to Rami or Terrence). Ripped-up power poles, blustering winds, uprooted trees⌠but this mog seems fine with it.
I fucked up my fingers prying open a Yankee Candle too hard the other day. At least it was my off hand. Anyway. Links!
Spurred on by a brief shower thought, iâve tried my hand at making a playlist âfor the bad daysâ: songs (mostly rock) with big, soaring crescendos that feel like an out-of-body experience. Your âBitter Sweet Symphoniesâ, your âHoppĂpollasâ, your ââHeroesâ-esâ â the songs that make you have faith in humanity, and make you not want to jump out of a thirtieth-storey window so badly.
Iâve been asking around for suggestions on the usual (Discord) channels, and have got some cracking songs in return â so, do any of you want to try your hands at it? Iâd love to hear your ideas. :-)
Hereâs the current set of songs on the playlist, to give you an idea of the general âvibesâ â exceptional examples are highlighted in bold.
I saw an awful transphobic sticker on my daily constitutional the other day. I shanât bother repeating the exact contents, because the sad sack who made it really doesnât need more exposure, but it was just the usual âbiological wombyn wonât wheesht!!!â crap. Yi kna the type.
At first it got me down, as it probably would any sane person. But then i thought â Whoever made that sticker, their bigoted views are now so unpopular, so marginalised, that theyâve had to resort to plastering stickers everywhere: the last resort of covid-conspiracy cranks, climate ostriches, football hooligans, and a number of others whose views are utterly unacceptable in polite company.
We might not be there yet as far as the law is concerned â lord knows people still have to jump through an ungodly number of hoops just to change a letter on their passport â but socially, itâs a good sign that the Inexorable March of Progress⢠is continuing as planned.
Anyway. Thatâs how a nasty bigot made my day.
Itâs a meta one, this; you can safely ignore this post if youâre just here for the trudges through increasingly-obscure north-eastern locations and hauls of links to websites which arenât this one.
That being said, sidenotesi are now back and functioning again! My apologies for the delay.
Your regularly scheduled programming will be resuming soon, with a walk down a stream which turns into an unexpected microcosm of local history. Iâm sure all the Americans in my audience are thrilled.
New year, new me, new site name, new links. You know the drill; hereâs the internetâs finest content, scavenged, foraged, and brought to you by yours truly.
2021 has come and gone, and i dare say it was a fucking relief compared to the previous year. Yes, it was still a bit shit in parts, but overall, vaccination rates are up, restrictions are down, that awful man is no longer president of the United States, and povertyâs probably down again i donât know i haven't checked. Here are some of the things that made me happy last year (in no particular order).
Iâm not usually the EDM type â too much meaningless soulless wub-wub for my taste â but Porter Robinsonâs Nurture brings some much-needed heart to the genre. So much of it resonated with me and helped me get through some tough times, be it âGet Your Wishâsâ finding a reason to keep moving forward, âMirrorâsâ teardown of anxious thoughts, or âMusicianâsâ struggles with creativity. Cheers, Mr Robinson.
Iâm a Geordie boygirl born and raised, so i was predisposed to enjoy the new Sam Fender record, Seventeen Going Underâ thereâs a reason heâs already done two sold-out arena shows in Newcastle, after all. This album was the perfect companion to my walks throughout the region (more on those later); representing the north-east in all its many facets, from deprivation and government neglect to a proud history and modern culture.
âAyeâ is like a supercharged, upgraded version of the frankly embarrassing âWhite Privilegeâ from his last album â think that âDaniel vs the cooler Danielâ meme; âSpit of Youâ brings me back to memories of my family in the Netherlands, and makes me wish iâd appreciated them more; Not to mention the final track, âThe Dying Lightâ, which shows Mr Fender at his most Springsteen, tugging at heartstrings with a soaring anti-suicide power-ballad.
Wolf Aliceâs third record, Blue Weekend, shows them at their anthemic, genre-fluid best. It opens with âThe Beachâ, which soars to highs so high youâd think theyâd never top them â but the quality is so consistent throughout that itâs hard for me to pick out just a few. âHow Can I Make It OK?â is an enchanting throwback about feeling unable to care for a loved one; towards the back of the album, the thrashing âPlay the Greatest Hitsâ and emotional âThe Last Man on Earthâ feel completely at home together, despite only having a single track between them.
Some honourable mentions go to Chvrches, Silk Sonic, and Will Wood, all of whom have produced some bloody brilliant music in the past year.
It might not have been the best film of the year â or even the best superhero film of the year, for that matter â but my pick for my favourite film this year can hardly go to anything other than James Gunnâs The Suicide Squad, simply by the merit of being the first film i saw in cinemas since Ăe Before Times. Itâs raucous, gorey fun which i wouldnât have experienced any other way.
Independent of viewing-place â and you know this is true because i watched it on my computer â iâd say the best film of the past year would have to be Censor, a stylish indie horror from first-time director Prano Bailey-Bond. Set in the shadow of the âvideo nastyâ panic, this moody mystery takes its time â but itâs worth every second.
Shawn Levyâs Free Guy was unapologetically shlocky, but i had fun with it, even if i did roll my eyes when that scene at the end happened (yi kna the one). I enjoyed Pig, with Nicolas Cage â check out the restaurant scene. Dune was the most gorgeous thing iâve ever had the privilege of seeing on the big screen. The French Dispatch is Wes Anderson at his Andersonianest, and youâll either love it or hate it â one thing we can all agree on, though, is that Jeffrey Wright should be the voice of every audiobook. Capping off the year was Spider-Man: No Way Home; of which, despite me having never seen any of his films, Andrew Garfield was absolutely the best part.Îą
I didnât watch much TV this year, but what i did watch i rather enjoyed. Inside â9 was the absolute highlight; a distressingly bingeable horror-comedy-drama-thing anthology series with big names and bigger twists. So hard to pick, but my favourite episodes, if you want to start somewhere, are âThe Riddle of the Sphinxâ, âThe Devil of Christmasâ, âA Quiet Night Inâ, and the delightfully meta live special.
Dark is a brilliant German time-travel twisty-mystery with a ridiculously talented casting department and (thank the heavens) an actually satisfying conclusion that keeps you going all along the ride. Go in blind â youâll regret it if you donât!
I finally got around to watching Chernobyl, too, and it was just as good as everyone said it was. More effective horror than anything James Wanâs ever made, thatâs for sure!
On the last day of 2020, i wrote up some predictions for 2021 â and one of them was that live sports and concerts would remain off limits until at least 2022. How happy i was to be proven wrong when i got dragged to an Elbow gig one September night. Guy Garvey, methinks, is one of the unsung heroes of Brit-pop/rock â so many artists have taken after Elbow, but they have a comparatively diminutive presence in the popular conscience compared to your Blurs, Oases, and Radioheads.
In more physical terms, this was the year i started (long December nights have gotten in the way of finishing it) my project to walk the Blyth and Tyne railway before it reopens, which has given me a fascinating look at the current fabric of this urbanised corner of Northumberland. I havenât much more to say on that except that itâs been so, so lovely being able once more to get out and about more often â and ticking something off my bucket list too!
Well, thatâs your lot. Iâve had a nice enough 2021 â i hope yours has been too.
Iâve mentioned a number of Christmas traditions i keep up here in the past, and thought you all might have wanted some updates.
I, alas, lost the Pogues Game on the very first day â i was putting on âDriving Home for Christmasâ and failed to notice that The Algorithm had queued the song of my nightmares up for me next. (I proceeded to lose again on the night before Christmas, this time at the hands of Bradley Walsh.)
Youâll be pleased to hear that our annual exchange of Christmas gifts on Minecraft went all according to plan this year. Someone built me a little shrine to do as i pleased with, which was quite nice of them.
Finally, iâve added the annual haul of records to the database for your perusal⌠but mostly for my own reference. :-)
This post is also available as a fancy, proper done-up page on the main site.
Well, here we are again. 2021 is almost over, and it was better than 2020, thank⌠well, you should probably thank every God just to cover your bases and make sure it doesnât happen again. (And the biologists, too. They have a vial of smallpox and they know how to use it!)
So. What do i think might happen in 2022? Well, hereâs my list of predictions, in no particular order. Some of these iâm absolutely sure of; some of these are just a wild guess. Iâll come back at the end of the year and give each one a grade, from âayeâ to âkindaâ to ânahâ.
As the solstice arrives, the week winds down, and the days begin once more to lengthen, itâs time for our final submission for this yearâs Lords of Misrule. This one comes from an artist known only as Newt S. For the last time this year, Io Saturnalia!
My sincerest thanks for everyone for participating this year. I wasnât expecting a single submission, let alone five of the bloody things.
Todayâs submission, a plea to pick up litter while on your morning (or evening) constitutional, comes from one Quinn Casey. Io Saturnalia!
I normally walk at an incredibly brisk pace. I have found a zen to slowing down to A) pick up the garbage and B) turn around slowly and admire the clean patch.
Iâm not talking about hopping a fence into someoneâs farmland. There are areas in the US that are legally private property, but in practice are wild, unused spaces.
For a rule-follower like myself itâs a âyou know it when you see itâ. Some real life examples of property I regularly trespass on and cleanup:
Picking up trash adds a layer of innocence to your case when pleading ignorance of your trespassing. Even if you are never confronted, it may help immerse you and ease your law-abiding mind.
Paths you roam frequently will be cleaned faster than they accumulate garbage, and there comes a point where the space looks natural, untouched by human kind. In my opinion, having those wild spaces close to where we live is essential to mental health.
Iâm stubbornly attached to the (unhealthy) notion that a productive day is a successful day.
Where does this trash go when you bring it all back to the bin? Does this encourage more consumption/litter, since the waste isnât immediately obvious anymore? Is litter even a substantial environmental problem, or is it just aesthetic?
I donât pretend to know the answer to these. These are problems for a society, a larger than life culture. For too many years this was the excuse I used to not care at all. To not take any action whatsoever.
Whatâs the point of helping at all?
Well now Iâve found one. (5, if youâve been keeping count) reasons to take action in a localized, meaningful way.
Small but constant effort by everyone is just as impactful as a one off million dollar idea. For true change we need to alter our behavior for the long term.
Relax, take a walk. Bring a bag.
When i was a bairn, my mam would take me to this great big bookstore in Amsterdam, just a hop and a skip away from the cityâs central plaza. Itâs held a special place in my mind ever since. What burns brightest in my memory, though, isnât a book or an item of decor or an especially kind employee, but a machine. On the top floor, around the corner from the gift shop, sat the shopâs on-demand printing service.
Twenty-four hours a day, new pages would roll through its glass walls, printing and printing and printing until a book was fully-formed. I donât remember what was in these books, or what they looked like â i was seven, give me a break â but iâll be damned if i donât remember that smell. Freshly-stamped ink, that petrichor of paper, that which one can still catch a whiff of in just-delivered magazines on oneâs front porch.
All things must pass eventually, of course. Ink dries, paper cools, and before you know it, your beautiful book smells like nothing at all. Yet in between the tiny strands of ground-up wood that make it up, something else, something just as fragrant, is happening â and to understand the power of that, we must head across the North Sea.
Iâve blogged about Barter Books before: the Mecca of second-hand books, housed in a comically oversized railway station in Alnwick (built that way to the Duke of Northumberlandâs specification). It is, in no uncertain terms, one of the coziest places on earth, despite its immense size. Daylight streams through the windows, and when none are to be found, artificial lights decorate the air with a firey golden glow. The most important factor in its gezelligheid (to borrow a term) has long eluded me, but i think i may have finally figured it out.
As books grow musty and yellow with age (a common condition second-hand), they, as any fule kno, gain a certain odour, similar to and yet entirely different from ânew book smellâ. Crack open the spine, and an earthy, wooden aroma wafts into the nose, with a slight hint of vanilla and an inkling of all the people whoâve leafed through it before. When enough of these old books are in the same place, the air becomes less like that of a building, and more like that of a forest â a way of being outdoors without being outdoors.
Maybe thatâs why itâs so cozy in there.