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ICC could return to London
By Will last year, at the start of December, No Comments; be the first!
So the ICC might be joining dozens of large organisations by fleeing the dusty hell-hole of strange buildings and the false economy of Dubai to return to Lord’s, housed in leafy London. No less a false economy, you might think, based, as it is, on bankers gambling the public’s money and then thriving off their bonuses (before America’s housing market collapses again, and the government bail out the bankers who in turn persuade us that “everything’s absolutely fine, honestly, so do keep banking with us so we can continue to gamble your money and keep us and the government in power,” thereby perpetuating the myth that democracy actually exists.
I really, really could go off on one about democracy but now’s not the time.
So yes, the ICC might be coming back to Lord’s. I always quite liked the fact they were so far away, even if getting hold of them on the phone was often impossible. “Sorry! On the golf course. In a buggy, in fact.” – “Yes, but there have been allegations of chucking from xyz.” etc.
But what do the public think about this? Well I went ahead and asked them, and here’s one of the succinct replies:
“Fuck Pakistan. Pashtunistan Zindabad. Pakistan army is raping our Pathan women and torturing our innocent old,” offered one. “They are real lions and they derserve to be a no:01 team in the game of cricket,” tapped another.
Oh god.
No Comments »What comedians do on a Friday night
By Will last year, at the start of November, 2 Comments »
So there we were, sitting in a private members club (as you do) at about midnight, when we noticed a man sitting on his own behind us. Sitting, chain-smoking, drinking, hunched, and … reading a book. It was one of those sights you don’t expect to see when the rest of the place is either dancing, or drinking, or dancing and drinking, or just drinking, or smoking, or smoking and dancing, or sitting and drinking, or talking.
I thought he looked a bit familiar, but my friend – an actress, and prone to overwhelming bouts of confidence – was convinced he’d be reading something like Hemmingway, or a book that at least suggested he was above the rest of us. Drinking, laughing, dancing and enjoying yourselves? Go to hell.
Nature called for me, so my friend seized on the poor bugger and demanded to know what he was reading and why. It was Dylan Moran, no less – and he was reading poetry. He looked a little worse for wear – crumpled and world weary, which is what his “act” is – and tottered out, book in hand, before I got back. Which is just as well, as I’d have genuflected, screamed his full name at the top of my voice and probably asked him if we could collaborate on an award-winning book on satire.
If you’ve never seen Moran live, you must. And before you do, just buy this.
2 Comments »Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park
By Will last year, at the end of October, No Comments; be the first!
London never looks better than in autumn, so I took in Hyde Park today before stumbling across Speaker’s Corner, somewhere I’ve always meant to visit but forget to. I’m glad I went, even though I was left confused at the speakers.
There were three loud Americans and two British-sounding people. Two of the Americans insisted, by shouting their heads off to a perplexed crowd, that England (not Britain) “will rise again”. She shall “be saved”, though from what or whom was not clear. From the Americans? Hmm.
One of them, who wore a committed and voluptuous beard with a white cap on his head, went one step further by saying that one day, English television sets will be the envy of the world; people won’t just come to England “to buy their bullets”. Now, I don’t know exactly how many bullets we produce – and yes, we’re a major defence exporter – but thought it was an odd juxtaposition: the mass-produced box of electronics that spawns trivial bullshit versus mass-produced mass-death weaponry. Maybe the man had a point. Or maybe he was plain bonkers.
The second American did not have a point, other than in his relentless pursuit for “real natural pussy” (as opposed to what? Oh, wait…). Predictably, he drew the biggest crowds and, standing on a step ladder, demanded everyone’s attention by telling us that he wanted to smell a girl’s bottom. “This is my goal, friends!” he said to a pack of complete strangers. “Does he want the one at the front or the one at the back?” smirked a bystander.
A little old lady (there’s always a little old lady, apparently) called David Cameron all sorts of 1950s swear words: evil hound was a favourite, which was either carefully chosen or a Freudian slip given that her main argument revolved around banning hunting. Next to her was a chair for the World Socialist Party, and a forlorn looking rucksack. And no speaker. That image alone spoke louder than any of the Americans.
It’s worth a trip.
No Comments »Cricket at the London Olympic stadium
By Will last year, at the end of October, 2 Comments »
“BRING IT ON!” caps-locks John Stern, the sound-as-a-pound and always cheery editor of The Wisden Cricketer magazine. Why? Because cricket could be coming to London’s Olympic stadium.
It makes total sense. It’s oval shaped, and thus ideal for cricket, and can hold 80,000 people – way, way more than Lord’s or any other England venue. And with England hosting Pakistan v Australia next year, not to mention the vast Asian population of London, having a huge stadium to host Twenty20s would be absolutely brilliant. If they get the pricing right, of course…
2 Comments »Tramp doffs cap on tube
By Will last year, mid-October, 3 Comments »
This singularly made my week, and probably others who shared the carriage. I was heading into town last night, sitting reading a particularly mangy copy of London *hite, sat two seats away from a tramp. I don’t know if we’re allowed to call them tramps, so if there are any phrasing police reading, the man I’m talking about was less advantaged. Smelly, unshaven, unkempt, and generally he looked like he’d had a tough life and a particularly tough week. There. That should placate you.
Appearances, however, are nothing if not deceiving. Two frighteningly tall women in their early thirties alighted (I love that word) the carriage, never pausing for breath despite the silver spoons in their mouths, and made a beeline to sit next to me. Well, you can’t blame them. Alas, only one seat was available. Fear not! The less-advantaged man stood up, tucking his paper under his left arm, brushed away any crumbs, particles of skin, hair or other matter than had fallen from his person, doffed his cap and said “my pleasure.”
Stunned, girl number two sat down, though not after a momentary pause to wonder just what he had brushed away, and why. In unison the pair said thank you, and I sat there grinning like a Cheshire cat after seeing both their fuddled expressions realise that an act of near Victorian gentlemanliness had befallen. Within seconds, both were back on track talking about parque flooring for their respective pied-a-terres, but it was a fun moment.
I often offer to stand up for women on the tube, inspired by one situation a few years ago when I offered my seat to a woman in her forties who looked at me in near disgust, tightening her handbag on her shoulder before spitting: “I’m perfectly capable of standing, thank you very much.” How bloody rude of me, eh?
3 Comments »A robbery, late at night
By Will last year, mid-October, 1 Comment »
Me and my housemate were walking back from the tube last night significantly and brilliantly worse for wear. We heard a man screaming at the top of his voice, a yelped shout of anger or pain – we weren’t sure which. When we got within a few metres, expecting to be involved in some sort of scuffle (such was his total, spitting anger) we soon realised he was the victim, not the aggressor, and had a bloody lip and more of the red stuff on his cheek. He looked in a very bad way and, in a thick Australian drawl, admitted “I’ve been robbed, fellas. Robbed. They’ve robbed me.” The anger was quickly replaced by shock.
It was a pretty harmless sort of happening. People are mugged and robbed all the time, and not even the leafy surrounds of my neck of London can mask the fact that it’s one of the most burgled places in the country. But all those fools got from him was a mobile phone. A cheap, plastic, tacky piece of electronics. He fought them off from getting his wallet, so the only medals they have to show for their act of greed and gutlessness is a lousy phone and a foreboding sense of guilt and shame. Who knows how old they were, but having never stolen anything (other than pick-and-mix from Woolworths when I was 12. But that’s a rite of passage) I can’t help but imagine it must be a mostly sickening feeling, waking up the next morning and seeing your second-hand, tarnished prizes.
The worst part is wondering. Wondering if you’ll get mugged or robbed, which I never have. Had we happened to chance upon the robbers ourselves on our way back, I wonder what we would have done. It’s fair to say the Aussie was ripe for causing immense damage, and I’d find it hard to stop him.
1 Comment »Hair company boss sets Camden council Ashes wager
By Will last year, at the end of June, 2 Comments »
This made me chuckle. The Ashes always produces little news gems like this, so I whacked it into our Buzz blog with feverish intent.
2 Comments »He may not be playing for Australia any longer, but the shadow Shane Warne casts still looms large – as, indeed, does his face.
A six-foot high poster of Warne appeared on a bricked-up window of Advanced Hair Studios, the company to whom Warne is their now-hirsute ambassador. With depressing predictability, Camden Council have told them to take it down, but they hadn’t banked on the chairman of the company being an Australian, and a feverish cricket fan to boot.
So Carl Howell has set the council a charitable challenge. “I’m prepared to offer the council a wager,” he said. “If England win, we will take it down and pay £5,000 to the Camden Mayor’s Charity Trust Fund. If we [Australia] win, we can keep the poster up. The history between the Aussies and England is based upon having a good laugh together at the end of the series regardless of who wins.”
Councils are not, however, renowned for their sense of cheer and jollity, and it remains to be seen whether the poster will be pulled by the fun police.
Warne, never one to let a jibe pass, said: “Camden Council should be relieved I’m not playing”.
The snowman of your dreams
By Will last year, at the start of February, 7 Comments »
We’ve just built possibly the best snowman ever.
Ancient photos. Cricket in Germany, 1942
By Will 2 years ago, mid-November, 6 Comments »
Google has teamed up with LIFE to unveil an incredible amount of photography (free). Obviously, I did the honourable thing by searching for any cricket photos, and there are a few interesting ones. It’s by no means as comprehensive as Hulton or Getty Images, but I enjoyed this photo of cricket being played in Germany in 1942. You’d imagine they were British, but who knows?
And here are C. Aubrey Smith (R), Henry Stephenson (C) and Boris Karloff (L) in 1948, taken by the brilliantly named Loomis Dean:
The real gems lie in their historical coverage. Search for London blitz and you’ll find rare beauties like these:
So, anyway. Have a look and enjoy wasting hours and hours.
6 Comments »The Manifesto Club: why I love Britain
By Will 2 years ago, at the end of August, No Comments; be the first!
In some countries, protests are an excuse for fundamentalism, an exhaust pipe of pent up anger. Some of them exist purely to fuel anarchists’ brainless belief that nations can prosper without governments. It’s a lovely idea, but about as desperately hopeful as me ever hitting a century at Lord’s.
Britain has its own nutters, like anywhere else, but we also do a very fine line in polite protesting. Admittedly these are all too rare, but they’re there. We are a nation of disgruntled, bitter bastards yet quite content to formalise our anger, funnelling it into a solid statement of intent via grown-up means. The best example comes from The Manifesto Club, a group of drunken farts who are mightily pissed off about the ban on booze in public.
So far, so normal. But how are they gaining publicity for their campaign? That’s right: by staging a picnic. Admittedly, picnics are an example of outdoor drinking and so forth, but the whole idea couldn’t be more equisitely British. “Right, you swines. I’ll show you. Come on, chaps – let’s stick it up them and hold a picnic in Hyde Park.”
Well done them.
No Comments »Cool tube
By Will 2 years ago, mid-July, 2 Comments »
One of the reasons I love cities is seeing how they cope with all the people. On the surface, in London at least, all seems quite normal and even habitable. Underground is a different story, with thousands of miles of pipes and cables and sewers and dead bodies and all the crap we don’t want to see. We can fly to the moon and find new (old) rivers on Mars, but there’s one aspect of London living we can’t yet alter: the heat on the tube.
I was amused to hear that Boris Johnson, the London mayor, has promised to install airconditioning on 40% of tube trains by 2010. That’s in 18 months – which astounds me. People have been trying to cool the tube for years, and although the potential of technology to improve lives increases year on year, I still have yet to hear any evidence about how the Tube will expel these gallons of boiling hot air.
The problem is, it’s so bloody deep. I gather New York’s subway has quite a lot of aircon, but (geek moment…father/family all architects) their city is built on much tougher volcanic rock, so they didn’t need to dig particularly deep or have any fear of it collapsing. Our Tube goes down to 60m in places, surrounded by weak and pourous clay, hence why it’s about as comfortable as the pit of hell. I refuse to use it in the summer unless I have two of those giant water butts used in offices for the thirsty work-shy gossip-hunters.
Secondly, or thirdly – whatever – Ken Livingstone passed the buck on any initiative during his tenure. I think he offered £100,000 about five or six years ago to anyone clever enough to design an efficient cooling system. Well that’s all very well, but it would cost ten times as much to implement. And five years on, we’re still sweating on eachothers newspapers and wondering if the heat would be sufficient to trip a suicide bomber’s explosives unexpectedly. (“Sorry – it was meant for Bond Street, not Shepherds Bush” etc)
My grandfather – a very brilliant man who designed this – told me that the Tube has to keep running for as long as possible, as the trains push the air through. He told me other things, mainly rude jokes about Australians which were probably not true, but I think he was right about the tube.
How will Boris manage it? It’s a tall ask from the mad-hatter. Aspiring engineers, offer your solutions below.
2 Comments »The bloated Boris
By Will 2 years ago, mid-April, 2 Comments »
More daft, brilliant stupidity from Armando Iannucci.
2 Comments »Saturday
I go for a walk and find I’m travelling a lot quicker than if I went by plane. It dawns on me. My fears have all come true: the physical world is reducing. Buildings are leaning over and coming towards me. Pavements are curling up over my head. The luggage was the start. But now with a fat adulterous hero like Boris Johnson to look up to, people all around me are deliberately putting on weight and rushing out to have sex outside marriage. The sudden coming together of a super-dense mayoral candidate, a massive luggage mountain and lots of fat people hooking up in bed means that London is now the heaviest city in the world. Nothing can stop its incredible gravitational pull sucking the rest of the planet towards it.
Sunday
I stay in bed as the entire universe collapses and disappears into a black hole that used to be Boris Johnson. I die happy that he has been foiled in his attempt to become mayor, and I regard the annihilation of the universe as, in the end, a victory for common sense.
All’s not quiet
By Will 2 years ago, at the end of March, 1 Comment »
I live in the epitome of suburbia. It tries to pretend it’s not by virtue of its proximity to a major London tube station, but everyone knows its kidding itself. Regardless, even this leafy London village is not immune to acts of madness.
I’m trying to watch a relaxing, violent film in the peace of my house, but a carload of eastern europeans are causing a riot outside. It’s almost more entertaining than the film. A stream of screaming persisted for about 20 minutes before the screamer, a man, started thumping his fists on top of the car, booming his hatred for all the road to hear. The revs got louder, and some of the girls began a piercingly loud scream (one of terror, it has to be said) as our man climbed ontop of the car, spread-eagled, holding onto the roof-rack runners on either side. Just when it couldn’t get any more Vice City, the car did what we all feared (but secretly hoped) and sped off with man clinging on! He did a pretty good job of holding on, and the car pootled down the street – the lights in each house flicking on, one after the other, as the screams died away.
And now, silence. Not a murmur out there, save for suburbia’s gossipers and do-gooders. No body, no nothing. Back to the film, and the more peaceful world of cricket.
1 Comment »London 2009
By Jonathan Liew 2 years ago, at the start of February, 10 Comments »
The inaugural Twenty20 World Cup is coming to England in 2009, which means a bumper summer of cricket for the whole country. As long, that is, if you live in London. Two of the three grounds chosen to host matches will be Lord’s (group games, super eights and the final) and The Oval (warm-ups, group games, super eights and a semi-final). Which leaves one semi and change for another lucky, lucky ground. The Rose Bowl, perhaps?
Now I live in London, and personally, this suits me down to the ground. In addition, there’s no doubting that the two grounds in question are superb venues. But London is not England. Cricket fans in the Midlands and the North have every right to feel aggrieved at this.
Apparently, if you believe Steve Elworthy, it’s all to do with travelling distances, which was a major factor in last year’s tournament. But a short trundle up the M6 isn’t really the same as 1600 kilometres from Durban to Cape Town. London to Nottingham to Manchester to London in the space of two weeks isn’t going to jet-lag anybody.
It’s not just this, either. Why, for example, is London is guaranteed Tests a summer out of seven (when it has about 15% of the population)? You have to wonder whether the predominance of Lord’s and The Oval is due primarily to the quality of their facilities, or the quality of their lobbyists.
10 Comments »Where to watch the rugby in London?
By Will 3 years ago, mid-October, 7 Comments »
Right then. It’s a big one tomorrow for the Rugby World Cup Final. Me and my mate have come up with what we consider to be a definitive list of must-haves for a venue in London:
1) Pub atmosphere. A pub, then.
2) Reasonable quantity of South African supporters, but no more than 50%. And that includes those behind the bar.
3) Decent Guinness, and not the extra-cold filth
4) Decent Youngs, Adnams or other draft and a fine selection of snackage
5) Not massively packed. Yeah, ok – stupid request
6) Easy access to outside for the socially retarded smokers like me
7) Oh, and a TV would be useful too
8 ) Unattached ladies to court. Sloanies need not apply. (No funnies about Soho please)
The O2 centre was mentioned but I’m not going all that way. I want it to be central in case we lose and need to drink into the wee hours. In fact, that applies for both eventualities.
So come on – by this time tomorrow I want a choice of at least 10 ideas.
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