When the sun is shining, and there is no rain to cause that irritating drip through the hole in the roof, I can be quite placid.  If the sunshine lasts more than a couple of days, I can even become quite magnanimous.

It was a little tricky therefore, when I got the call to do my little spot for the radio, and Shane expected me to rant and rail about the world, when I was actually feeling quite benevolent.  He chose the topic of bankers, which normally would be enough to send me off into a long rant, but the birds were singing, the sun was beaming in the windows and frankly I just couldn’t get the old bile going.  I didn’t give a flying fuck about the bankers, just at that moment, and provided they all rotted in hell then I had nothing much more to add.

In fairness to Shane, he did his best.  He pressed all the right buttons to bring up a head of steam, but the more he tried to rile me the more placid I became.  He managed to edit out the bit where I suggested setting up a charity foundation to support Boucher in his old age, and the bit where I suggested that Fitzpatrick should be given an extra couple of million to show the nation’s gratitude.  With some judicious button tweaking he actually managed to make me sound quite sarcastic and a little hostile.  He’s a clever lad, is our Shane.

They have taken a little summer break for the next few weeks but will be back later.

No doubt, by then the weather will have broken, and we’ll be back to our usual miserable rain and cold.

With a bit of luck, I’ll be living back in The Dark Side?

Actually I did it yesterday, because I thought I would be asleep this morning, but I wasn’t and that’s a different story.

Yesterday was one of those days when a whole load of unexpected things happened along with all the things I expected to happen.  I suppose that’s what makes life interesting?  It’s the little surprises that add spice to life, as the captain of the Titanic was heard to remark.

Anyway, I was chatting away to Shane when a friend, whom I hadn’t seen in ages came hacking his way through the long grass of the lawn.  I had to somehow signal to him that I was on the phone and not to make any noise.  I don’t know what the sign language for “I’m doing a radio interview, so shut the fuck up” is but it seemed to have the desired effect.  Apparently Sandy doesn’t understand sign language though [apart from the meaning of a rolled up newspaper] and she proceeded to bark at my friend, and as a result, she has made her radio debut.

Shane wanted to talk about Jamie Oliver which was a bit awkward as I had already said all I had to say here.  I suppose there may have been one or two listeners who actually haven’t read this site, so I ran with it anyway.

For various technical reasons [i.e. I was asleep], I hadn’t heard the station before, only my contribution, but this morning was different.  I thought they announced the station as C103, and then realised to my horror that they were actually saying Zee 103!  It’s bad enough that American insist on eviscerating the language with their todally awesome misuse of words and their complete inability to spell, but when they can’t even pronounce the letters of the alphabet, it really fucks up my head.  How many times to I have to say that ‘Z’ is pronounced ‘zed’, not fucking ‘zee’?  I have a good mind to sue the radio station for mental trauma and illegal importation of corrupt pronunciation.

So here is my little contribution to ZED 103 this morning.

I hope you were listening, Cully?

And please give a warm welcome to Sandy who can be heard surgically removing my friend’s balls in the background.

]]> http://www.headrambles.com/2010/04/14/cooking-jamie-oliver-on-the-radio/feed/ 9 http://www.headrambles.com/2010/03/30/legal-paradoxes-and-radio-sessions/ http://www.headrambles.com/2010/03/30/legal-paradoxes-and-radio-sessions/#comments Tue, 30 Mar 2010 12:17:43 +0000 Grandad http://www.headrambles.com/2010/03/30/legal-paradoxes-and-radio-sessions/ A few days ago, I was asked if I was interested in doing a little spot on a radio show.

I said fair enough.  It beats picking dead flies out of the custard.

Actually, I’m not that fond of interviews, because when I hear them repeated, all I can hear are the fluffs, the hesitations and the things I didn’t really mean to say.  I have done a few in the past, mainly about The Book.  Some were live by telephone, some were pre-recorded and one was live in studio.  Strangely enough, one of the better ones was the live in studio one where you would imagine that the intimidation of sitting surrounded by the usual apparatus would cause havoc, but Declan Meehan is a great interviewer and anyway I am quite used to radio studios having worked in and around them for many years.

I was sort of sleepy yesterday morning when Shane phoned.

“Right,” says he, “are you ready to roll?” or words to that effect.

“No” I thought.  “Yes” I said.

Shane is a damned good interviewer, because he doesn’t interview – he chats.  Also the fact that it was being pre-recorded meant that I could say what I liked, and could hesitate, or pepper the conversation with ‘ems’ and ‘ahs’.

It’s only a short piece, but even I learned something from it.

Did you know that it is illegal in this Godforsaken country not to be able to break the law?

]]> http://www.headrambles.com/2010/03/30/legal-paradoxes-and-radio-sessions/feed/ 20 http://www.headrambles.com/2009/08/01/a-very-moving-story/ http://www.headrambles.com/2009/08/01/a-very-moving-story/#comments Sat, 01 Aug 2009 09:10:28 +0000 Grandad http://headrambles.com/2009/08/01/a-very-moving-story/ I don’t know if anyone has noticed but there are major changes afoot.

I started moving this to its new server and there are a lot of issues.

My mail isn’t working.

There are all sorts of weird and wonderful errors creeping into the site.

Be patient.

I’m doing my best

For some strange reason, a couple of you suggested that I should.

Frankly, I can’t really see the point.  Instead of reading me droning on, you hear me droning on.

I suppose there are advantages to podcasts, in that you can listen to what I have to say while you are driving, or making mad passionate love with your significant other [or even your insignificant other?].  But you can do that anyway, because all my posts are converted to audio anyway by those people in Odiogo.

On the other hand, I would have to moderate my language somewhat, as you could be listening in the office, or with the children playing in the background.  Visual stuff is grand, because you can always pretend it is something else, but when the sound blares out of the speakers, it tends to travel and everyone around gets the benefit of my fucking and blinding.

I did get as far as putting the microphone on and switching on the recorder.  I said my cheerful “Hello all.  This is a podcast” and then I went blank.  What the hell was I supposed to say?  Feck all has happened between yesterday and today, apart from raiding a couple of tobacconists across the County Border and having a quiet game of poker with Sandy last night.  [Never play poker with a dog – you can’t tell what they are thinking.]

So there I was, staring at the recording program as it quietly recorded nothing, except me breathing.  I suppose I could do a half hour of heavy breathing, but my probation officer has warned me about that, so I can’t.

Anyway, when I do a solo spot into a microphone, I tend to drone.  I sound like a footballer being interviewed, or at worst, I can nearly sound as bad as Harney [the Queen of the Depressed Drones]. 

The microphone has been packed away again.

If you want me to podcast, you are going to have to do some of the work.  You are going to have to suggest what I do, or what I talk about. 

If I could find some way of recording Skype, I could have a phone in.  That would be interesting?  But you’d all have to be around at a prearranged time, and I know from experience trying to do a podcast with America and Australia that that can be a pain in the hole, as everyone is in a different time zone.

So it’s back to the old keyboard…….

I am late in writing today, because I have just been interviewed by the lovely Deirdre Walsh on Radio Kerry. 

No.  It was nothing to do with blogging.

They wanted to talk to me because I am an endangered species.  Along with various whales and tigers.

Yes.  Pipe smokers are almost extinct.  I am going to apply to Brussels for a preservation order, but in the meantime, Radio Kerry wanted an archive of an interview with a real live pipe-smoker, before we are overpowered by the cigarette smoking hoards.

Also, my other little sideline has been exposed on the Interweb.

That b*st*rd Dick has blown my cover.  He never got over the Ron thing and has been itching to get his own back ever since. He has discovered the real reason behind Head Rambles and has posted about it.

What’s worse, he was obviously at the New Years Eve party [though I don't remember seeing him there], and the f*ck*r had his camera with him.

Now, we celebrities have our rights.  We have a right to private lives.  We resent media intrusion.  Just ask Paris Hilton or Jane Goody. Look what happened to Diana.  So when Dick starts publishing private photos of me on the Interweb, I get annoyed…..

I’m off to see my solicitor, and buy some pipe tobacco.

And, bless her little cotton socks, she has passed it on to me.

She wants me to write a post that uses every tag. It’s all very well for her – she only has a few. I have loads. The cow!

Now I may be getting old but I find these difficult. I had a hard days blogging yesterday, as I had a good rant on a podcast to America. That was after I did my post on Cully and Sully.

So today I went for a ramble around the garden, trying to think of a topic. No go. There was no inspiration around the house either, and I’m damned if I’m going around the village or around the town for something so trivial.

Back in the 70′s life was a lot simpler. There were no computers or Internet, or even television so there were no memes. I had no irritating daughter in the family either. We found our pleasures in simple things. I remember learning to drive so we could go on holidays touring in the West, with no worries about flying and Global Warming. We had such simple sports as children in times past, like watching spiders spin their webs, and the designs they’d make. We’d go for rambles through the woods and have picnics of tea and spam sandwiches. We were a lot healthier for it.

Nowadays, work is the new religion and people have lost the use of their imagination. People only get worked up over celebrities and smoking out corrupt politicians. They panic over property prices and have lost sight of the soul of life.

No.

I can’t think of anything.

I elect not to do it.

I’m going to file this under Uncatagorised.

Maybe Sixty should have a bash at this?

Or how about Kirk at Just Thinkin’? I haven’t tagged him before.

And it’s a while since I annoyed Grannymar!!

F*cking memes….

It’s one of those little lapses that happens with old age, I suppose.

There is a new web site up and running. It’s only a new-born so there will doubtless be sleepless nights, and loads of nappies to be changed.

It’s called Kilos of Craic.

So what is it all about?

Just think of four or five people sitting in a pub, having a bit of a laugh. The conversation flows freely and the topic changes from minute to minute. Now imagine that those people are in fact sitting up to 12,000 miles apart! That is Kilos of Craic.

A group of us – Jefferson Davis, BrianF, Baino, Doctor Don and myself get together once in a while and have a group chat in the Interweb. Sometimes we have contributions from others, like Daz. It can be weird, zany, crude and even funny. It can be very disjointed, because, like any good craic, it is unscripted.

As for who is who? This episode starts with me bitching about my software. I’m the one with the non-American, non-Australian accent. Baino is the soft Australian female voice. Jefferson is the one with the Southern Drawl, and BrianF is the other one – the one who never shuts up. Doctor Don makes the odd appearance [so if you hear a strange voice cut in, it's probably him. He doesn't say much].

So head over to Kilos of Craic and have a listen. Let’s know what you think.

Incidentally – Craic means ‘fun’, ‘laughter’, ‘good conversation’.
Not to be confused with Cráic which means ‘arsehole’

I’m sitting half asleep at midday. I’ve only had three hours sleep because K8 the GR8 and TAT have been on the tiles all night celebrating K8′s birthday. They stayed the night, and are clattering around me. TAT [fair play to him] is frying up a breakfast, and Herself is wandering around in a daze as she too missed her sleep. K8 is giving out about her hangover. Puppychild is having a fine time bashing our Sandy over the head with a tray.

In other words, a quiet Sunday, where I just wish I’m in bed.

Suddenly I remember – it’s Podcast time! I had forgotten all about it. So I connect up to tell the other Podcast members that they can stick it for once.

But it’s too late. They have me on line and I can’t get off again.

So into the middle of this domestic chaos I am suddenly speaking to America and Australia. And I haven’t a clue what we are talking about. There is no schedule or running order. We just talk about wherever the conversation takes us, and the result is fun.

In the next hour, myself, Baino, Brianf, Jefferson and K8 bat the breeze [as they say], with occasional interruptions from Granny, TAT, Drummerboy, Puppychild and Sandy. There’s even a contribution from the New Zealand Pubcast crew.
The whole lot was recorded and has been edited by Jefferson to remove the rude bits [well, most of them].

Nip over and have a listen.

I think it is the best show yet. It’s chaos. It’s fun. It’s zany.

It’s also the last show. So it’s a bit of a party.

I have all this expensive broadcasting stuff lying around, and it seems just a waste to record myself waffling, when I can write just as easily.

One of my great loves in life is music. I tend to listen to classical stuff these days, but occasionally I’ll listen to a bit of pop.

But here I am going to sound my age – pop these days is rubbish [in the main]. Singers seem to be chosen for their ‘sex appeal’ rather than their talent. I am tired of blokes pointing to, or actually clutching their crotch. I’m tired of bimbos who prance around dressed as pre-pubescent schoolgirls or who wear next to nothing at all. They all sound the same anyway.

In the 60s and 70s, pop music went through a huge transition. To be successful, you had to have talent vocally and musically. You had to be able to compose good lyrics and harmonies. It didn’t matter a damn what you looked like. You had to be able to play an instrument, as there was no fancy electronics to get you out of a hole.

One of my arguments that this was the heyday of popular music is that so many of the songs are being re-released by modern ‘artists’.

So, back to my idea. I thought I would do a brief sample of music from the 60s and 70s for two reasons. One is to bring back some memories for those of us old enough to remember those days, and the other is to show the younger generations what real pop music should be.

Each sample will be quite short as for one thing I don’t want people screaming about copyright, and the other is that Ron or Dick will start screaming about how much space I’m taking up on the website. Sound files tend to be big!

What do you think?