RSS FEED IDEMS: The Prandial Post
- Flying
When we first talked of doing an inflight magazine, we wanted to do things differently....
- Snap, happy
At the risk of sounding all Hammersley, I've been in Madrid shooting pics for one of a forthcoming three 'things' that will be talked about soon. And this one came out purrty. Meanwhile, this is just great in ways I can't even express....
- I am not Al Gore's friend
Let's just start by saying that I don't feel good about this....
- Boicboic
Deadlines are making that whooshing noise again, and I seem to be in Amsterdam, so I direct the honorable gentlepeoples over to boicozine, where I have a review of the year posted up for your interwebnet delectation....
- The obit they didn't want to publish
Many well-known people died on Christmas Day. James Brown last year; Dean Martin and Charlie Chaplin a few before that. Suitably for my current location, Nicolai Ceausescu as well. This year, it didn't make the front pages, but a great man of literature did die: Hugh Massingberd, the man who changed the nature of the modern obituary, via the pages of the Daily Telegraph. I had the good fortune to meet this giant of a man (in every way) a few years ago. The current incumbent at the Telegraph, Andrew McKie, writes his personal tribute here, and doubtless wrote the (always unsigned) official send off, glorious in its minutiae of the man's own genealogy, here. Unsurprisingly, he gets coverage elsewhere too. I haven't yet bought his autobiography, though it sounds essential reading to anyone who likes words. Wit, racconteur, bon viveur, penniless and generous, lover of life and lover of lives. He stopped writing due to ill health and lack of confidence a few years ago; his legacy isn't well known, but hugely loved by newspaper readers around the world. Click some links, buy his compilations of obits, read his words, laugh. It's what Hugh Massingberd - who died on the same date as WC Fields, as I'm sure he would have known - would want. A few choice excerpts from his own obit: "He was known to have eaten the largest breakfast ever in the Connaught, so overtaking the previous record-holder, the late Aga Khan. If a waiter listed the menu for breakfast - eggs, sausages, bacon, steak, mushrooms etc - Massingberd merely nodded. When the waiter enquired which he wanted, he would say, "All of them", and then worked his way through them. I often invited him with two others to eat a brace of pheasants. Three shared one, he ate the other. I suspected he went to McDonald's, ravenous, on the way home." "In front of me, I have Hugh's copy of a book of Telegraph obituaries, complete with underlinings, showing details that particularly amused him. Among the passages underlined are: "Lieutenant-Colonel Geoffrey Knowles (who as a subaltern was bitten in the buttocks by a bear - he survived but the bear expired)." "Commander 'Braces' Bracegirdle of the Australian navy was asked by one of his sailors for compassionate leave on the grounds that his home town was under flood water 6ft deep, and his wife was only 5ft 3in high. Braces silently handed over an orange box and stamps to post it." "Big Daddy, the 28-stone wrestler (real name, Shirley Crabtree) whose leotard was made from the chintz covers of his wife's sofa." Hugh knew instinctively that it is our peculiarities - our failings, our embarrassments - that make us who we are."...
- I could tell you but then you would have to be destroyed by me
FOI hero Trevor Paglen has found out what happens when you create secret ops so undercover that you can't draft in a designer to help out. Result: some rather amusing patches. My favourite motto: Gustatus similis pullus. Tastes like chicken. Buy the book, and be very, very scared. (via Cool Tools, where there are more egs)...
- Is it a bird? Is it a Blaine?
Forthcoming flyers of airline BMI Baby will appreciate this double page feature on le cool and all our wonders in the next issue of their magazine Yeah Baby!. Here it is: It passed through the hands of the writer, the photo editor, the designer, the sub editor, the editor and finally went through a whole proofing process. During all of which no-one noticed something strange about my feet in this (lowres on the preview) photo: All of which adds a subtle touch to the whole thing that rather pleases me. Only eagle-eyed readers will recognise the true nature of our magic....
- Arms and the man
See this cool thing here? Do you? This, my brothers and sisters, is my family coat of arms. Well, maybe, probably, but hey, this page says it's valid for people with the surname Losowski, so I'm bloody claiming it. That's seven peacock feathers. Seven. And a bloody visor from some armour, wearing a crown! Oh yes. I always knew, deep down, I came from Polish-Lithuanian nobility. Anyone know a good Catalan tattoo artist?...
- Roll on, roll off
Catalunya isn't allowed to represent itself as a sporting nation in many sports, but roller hockey is, in many ways, the exception. What's so exceptional about it? Well, having won the World Cup in 2004, the Spanish Sports Fed decided that actually it didn't look so great for federalism to have Catalan world champions, so they banned them from taking part in future European and World tournaments. (Result: the current Spanish team are now all Catalans) Did plucky aspirant Catalunya give up? Hell no. So what if the Spanish Federation won't let them compete in any event where Spain is invited? The solution's in the question. Catalunya is now officially in South America. At least it is in the world of Roller Hockey, where the Catalans yesterday lost the final of the Copa America 4-2 to Argentina (who are also apparently "in South America". Yeah, whatever). Still, they're not downhearted. There's always the Asian Championships to come. Meanwhile, in 2010, Catalunya will take its surreal map of the globe one step further, by hosting the Copa America itself. I, meanwhile, will be trying to spend pesos in my local bar. ¡Visc al Cataluyna! (wherever the heck it is)...
- Still breathing
Blimey, is that the time? The extended absence can be explained. Perhaps one day it will be. Meanwhile, I'm also blogging furiously for those dratted private members of The Hospital Club, so if you're a member of the cultural elite, beg, borrow and seek a free membership of their walled garden of creativity, and I'll see you over there. I'm the one with the cigar. Elsewhere, my favourite Mark Twain story nearly came true, and in researching that above link, I discovered that the Bank of England really does print £1m notes. That would have saved the KLF a lot in transport fees. All well where you are, I hope? I'm back in Barcelona, and have just moved into a new flat. I can now see this place from my bedroom window. It's all purrty lit up at night, I can tell you....
- Says it all, really
(thanks to Chris Pollard and Andrew Biswell)...
- Random Marcel Marceau tribute generator
Click Refresh to see more (Feel free to add your own below) Marcel - Live! MP3s later"; var i = Math.round(7*Math.random()); document.write(r_text[i]); //-->...
- Keep it in the familiar
So, back to Barcelona it is. Lots to do, with projects, plans and plotting in the process. Ya puedes imaginar. And some potentially pleasing news (for me, anyway) may be in the offing. Onward!...
- Ich bin un Parisien
Attention all Parisiens and Berlin folk - le cool is heading your way. You can sign up, you lucky, lucky things, right here. Tell all your relevant friends, s'il vous plait....
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