1. Glastonbury, as mentioned in my last post, was incredibly super. I was there as part of the panel for the Green Jobs and Sustainable Futures debate that was scheduled on Saturday in Billy Bragg’s Leftfield tent. I think it went really well, 150 people turned up (and stayed!), we got some good questions, and I got to talk about my work with the East London Green Jobs Alliance. Best bits though – Emmy the Great also being on the panel, staying afterwards to hear her and Billy Bragg sing, and the debate getting a brief mention in Tim Dowling’s column for the Guardian!

2. I am going to post some more pics later on this week, but Paris with my sister was so much fun. There was badly spoken French, cocktails at the Ritz, croques monsieurs, long walks, boat trips, book shops, the Eiffel Tower and macaroons. Beaucoup de good times.

3. We also had the fun adventure of meeting a crew of Parisien dancers and acrobats. They were amazingly talented and a couple of them are in this parkour (or free-running) video which shows them in the Forum des Halles. It’s made me reflect a lot on what makes good art, and what makes good protest. Of course, these aren’t necessarily the same thing, but both seem to require people who are willing to end their complicity with the norm, to take a moment to show others the inherent absurdity in the way we live, and what a different world could look like. Inspiring.

4. I have become a bit obsessed with photo booths, but we don’t have any of the old-school good ones in the UK. I have found this fun website though (cue me being incredibly silly in my living room).

5. Love these cameos carved from Oreo cookies! By artist Judith G. Klausner.

6. I was in Stoke Newington today and dropped by a local school fair with some friends for the tea and cake. One corner of the playground was devoted to loads of mini placards, in preparation for the “Mischief Makers Protest March” that was going to take place later in the afternoon. The kids had been encouraged to make placards about things they cared about and they were absolutely brilliant, ranging from the eco-warrior-in-training “Save the Tiger”, to the cute “I Love Golden Syrup”, to the weird “Don’t Destroy Daleks Dr. Who”, to the plain heart-breaking “Don’t Leave Mum”. The best had to be the massive “Let Children Teach” banner! A gorgeous idea all round, I wish I could have stayed to see them march around the playground.

7. A new Hummingbird Bakery has opened up near my offices off Brick Lane. Massive yay.

hanna ♥

In one corner, you’ve got the city commissioner, who actually runs the elections. In the other, the independent watchdog group Committee of 70.

Tim Dowling, an official in the commissioner’s office, says the committee must now file as a political committee–not as a non-profit–because they are participating in a legal battle over two council candidates in the DROP program.

“In state law, when you try to influence the outcome of an election, you are required to file and register as a campaign committee.”

Zack Stalberg of the Committee of 70 says the legal brief was to voice an opinion, not to influence the election’s outcome.

“We are not a political committee. We are a non-partisan good government group, and having been filing briefs like this for many, many years.”

Stalberg says he has no intention of filing as a political committee.

Reported by Mike Dunn, KYW Newsradio

[listicle id=55129 align=left show_title=true]

It’s my Weekends. The Saturday Guardian Weekends, that would be. Not to mention the Guardian generally. It’s a long time since I read the newspaper with any great care and thoroughness. A quick glance at the headlines just so I know roughly what the rest of the world is worrying about. And so much is speculation that has yet to happen, and that does mean I get away with less reading.

I detest listening to the radio, I have to say. I like specific programmes well enough, but refuse to have the radio in the background, droning on and on. But if I did, I’d at least have a vague idea of what’s happening.

I was going to blog about being one day behind. And I am. One day behind. I tend to access yesterday’s newspaper most of the time, and the hardest bit is not paying too much attention to the television guide or the weather forecast.

And it can be handy, as sometimes yesterday’s news turn out to be irrelevant once it’s tomorrow. If that is what I mean. I seem to have no today in this scheme of things. More perspective on old news and speculation. However this Saturday’s reading of Friday’s news meant that I was still on Libya when everyone else is in Japan.

My Weekends, the Guardian colour magazine, is coming to my kitchen table increasingly late every week. This week’s is being ignored in favour of last week’s, but also the one from four weeks earlier, because I still have to take in the piece on Tim Dowling’s marriage counselling.

All this is fine. Really. But then I discovered I had not received my last two months of Vi. Inquired. They said I hadn’t paid. And, strictly speaking I hadn’t, but purely because they had not invoiced me. Or perhaps the same post gremlin who might be reading both the latest Sara Paretsky and the new Adrian McKinty is also protecting me from my bill.

Once we had sorted that, the missing copies were sent out and they will need some attention. My latest house magazine arrived a while back. And Pippi very kindly gave me three copies of Vi’s new sibling magazines in case I need something to read every now and then. I lie. There are two house magazines. I just turned round and there they were, behind me.

Along with some catalogues that actually are of interest to me. But then I will save money on not buying anything due to not having perused the catalogues. Which is good. Except raspberries only grow once you’ve bought the raspberry canes and put them in the ground. On the other hand, no jam for the Resident IT Consultant to make without raspberries.

It must have been last year that I finally came to the end of the pile of magazines the Uncle gave me thirteen years ago. They weren’t new then either, and you do get such lovely perspective being fifteen years or more behind.

Occasionally I read books, too.

Dinner is going to be late tonight.

The objects in question? A frying pan, mini ketchup and mini mustard from bear’s new kitchen set, two wooden shapes from his magnetic crane and finally the boulder from the Thomas the Tank Engine train run.

It’s nearing 7pm the time at which dinner is usually served, but at this current moment in time I am becoming more and more neurotic by the second. My eyeballs are bulging out and I am pretty sure I have a Monica vein pulsating on the side of my forehead.

I read a very similar dilemma in The Guardian magazine today by Tim Dowling.  A head nodding and concurring account of a set of misplaced car keys which turned up in his wifes pocket after he rudely left lunch guests in favour of sorting through the kitchen bin even though he knew they wouldn’t be in there.

I hauled our entire bin of recycling back in from the verge and went through it all.  Twice.

I emptied the toy box.  More than twice.

I moved furniture, went through hand bags, change bags and gym bags.  Nothing.

When husband asked if I actually needed to find any of these items I barked a fed up “no”.  I didn’t need to find any of them but I had to.  I had to know where they were.  Where they were hiding.  Now.  There would be no dinner until I had located them.

After an hour an a half of searching husband casually said (from the comfort of the sofa “what’s that under the TV unit?”.  The boulder.  The sodding boulder.

We did eat dinner.

The two missing shapes had been in the boot of the car.

The missing kitchen items are yet to be located.  It still keeps me awake at night.  God forbid I lose anything else before I find them.  I’ll have to start a list of yet to be found things.

That reminds me the mouse for my computer never did show up.  Pass me a pen and paper.

1. Sorry to be a party-pooper, but I couldn’t help but lead off with my own Scrooge-like take on all the royal wedding coverage over here in the U.K. at http://www.PoliticsDaily.com.

2. After the British government announced that it would be collecting data on the subjective well-being of its citizens earlier this week, The Guardian’s Tim Dowling came up with some sample questions.

3. Here’s the marvellous Gretchen Rubin over on The Huffington Post with 9 zany assignments to break up your ordinary routine. I *love* the idea of talking for 15 minutes without using the words “I” or “me.” (Good blogging advice too!)

4. Also love, love, love this cartoon at The Oatmeal about what it’s like to work from home, especially the bit about its effect on relationships.

5. Take a look at Erin McKean’s insightful piece in The Boston Globe about what phrases like “I hate to tell you” really mean.

6. Finally, the week wouldn’t be complete without this hilarious piece by Brittany Hunt at The Miscellany News about how to date a Women’s Studies major. (Hat tip: Salon Broadsheet)

Have a great weekend!

Stephen Rooke: He sleptwalked into mud in the middle of the night (picture posed by model sleepwalker – Getty)

Stephen Rooke, 32, had planned to stay at the Crown and Anchor pub on the island, but instead woke up at 4am in knee-deep soft sand.

Mr Rooke suffers from severe sleepwalking, a condition that is worsened by alcohol.

A friend revealed that he’d drunk about 15 bottles of lager and several shots on the night he got into difficulties.

Fortunately, factory worker Mr Rooke, from Hartlepool, had completed a lifeguard-run beach rescue course, and had the presence of mind to lay flat on the sand to stop himself sinking any further.

Rather than risk moving, he stayed put and yelled for help.

His cries woke up members of an all-boy church group camping on the mainland at Fenham Bed and Breakfast, who alerted the Coastguard.

Mr Rooke was released from his predicament disorientated, but uninjured.

His friend Tim Dowling, from Newcastle, said that the scare has brought about a change in Mr Rooke’s drinking habits.

He said: ‘Stephen spent the next day in  bed and said he was avoiding alcohol for a long time but wanted to stress how  grateful he was to the volunteers who saved his life.’

Yet I, and presumably most other people, persisted with the game between two teams we do not really care about.

And this is the essence of the World Cup.

Abou Diaby and some Uruguayan dude do battle in hopefully the worst game of the 2010 World Cup

A letter in Thursday’s Daily Mail read: “Wouldn’t it be great if TV coverage of the World Cup was limited to England’s games, those of hosts South Africa and of the tournament’s ‘big guns’.

“Then we would be spared the ordeal of having to sit through a match between Bongo Bongoland and the Former Soviet Republic of Bulimia and other meaningless events.”

Typical Daily Mail reader – the World Cup is ruined by too many foreigners.

But Mike Phelps, from Yeovil, Somerset, (presumably not the swimmer, because I do not think he’s from Yeovil) has missed the point entirely, especially as there are no former Soviet republics in the World Cup.

The World Cup is all about the foreigners.

South Korea v Greece. Serbia v Ghana. New Zealand v Slovakia. Any game featuring North Korea. These are the games most worth seeing.

You would never watch these sides under any other circumstances, but stick the match on terrestrial TV and it becomes an unmissable appointment.

Mr Phelps still admits that despite his misgivings he will still be sitting through the games he refers to as “meaningless”, either that or his television features no off button.

The England games are a mere distraction, something for the part-timers and the media (who cater for the part-timers) to get worked up about.

In Thursday’s Times Frank Skinner admitted that England’s fortunes mattered little to him, compared to the fortunes of his club side West Bromwich Albion.

He said: “If someone said they were an England fan first and foremost, I would not take them very seriously.

“The club are your bedrock of football love, that’s where you pay your dues and earn your right to be an England football fan.

“England is the icing on the cake. I care more about West Brom.”

Skinner also said that he does not associate England with disappointment like most people do, he finds watching them glamourous and exciting, as he gets to support players such as Wayne Rooney, which does not happen at West Brom.

Although West Brom have just achieved their biennial promotion, half of the time Skinner, like me, supports a lower league club.

And I share his feelings of glamour and excitement, yet mainly supporting England leaves me feeling slightly seedy.

Because no Huddersfield Town player has ever had his personal life spread across the pages of the tabloids, I can cling to the hope that they might not be nobheads, whereas I am well past that point with John Terry, Ashley Cole and Steven Gerrard.

The Guardian’s Tim Dowling implored fellow non-football fans to get involved with the action in his column on Wednesday.

He wrote: “Let the red and white tide wash over you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know anything about the sport. It doesn’t even matter if you don’t care.

“The World Cup is entry-level football supporting. You needn’t worry too much about the rules, the draw, the pitch, the squad or the group.

“Enjoy the spectacle. Drink the beer.”

Whether you are a fan or not, whatever your team, whatever your country, whatever the game, his last line is good advice.

When I took up the banjo, I never imagined I was on a path to injury

The trainer at the gym is looking at my left shoulder. He presses a spot at the base of my neck with his thumb, causing a deep twinge that runs all the way down my left arm, and whistles in ironic admiration. People who work in physiotherapy are invariably impressed by how tense I am. I’m like a giant fist, permanently clenched in anxiety.

“It could be from the way you sit while you work,” he says. “You  probably lean forward when you type.”

“Probably,” I say.

“But it’s odd it’s only on one side.”

I know exactly what it’s from; I just don’t want to tell him. It’s from playing the banjo.

When I took up the banjo three years ago, I thought of it as a harmless pastime, or at least as a pastime that would harm only others. When I joined a band last year, I didn’t imagine I was following a path that would inevitably lead to injury.

But being in a band means keeping up with other musicians, and I have some unfortunate history here. When I was in the City Youth orchestra, I had to teach myself the violin without making any noise, the bow hovering just above the strings, because any noise I made was the wrong noise. When I was in a band in college, I was always on the verge of being kicked out for my lack of application. When you hang out with students who drink beer, smoke pot and play guitars all day, establishing yourself as the lazy one is no mean feat, but I managed it.

This time I don’t want to be left behind, and I have vowed to attack musicianship with as much dedication as I can muster without inviting unwanted sarcasm from my wife. As part of this new ambition, I have devised a banjo arrangement for a song that is both fiendishly complex and nakedly impressive.

Or it would be if I could play it, but I can’t. I spend most of my time sitting at my desk, banjo on my knee, running over the same notes at half speed and staring at a blank computer screen. The ritual might be calming if progress were in any way perceptible. After a few hours of frustration, I go downstairs to the kitchen, where my wife is sitting.

“Working hard?” she says. “Plinkety plink.”

“It helps me think,” I say. At that moment I’m thinking: index, middle, thumb, middle, thumb, index, middle, thumb. “My neck hurts.”

“I see,” she says. “Anything else to report?”

“Next week’s gig is cancelled,” I say, looking out the window. “But the rehearsal is still on, because the studio was already booked.”

“Oh, are we still talking about you?” she says. “How interesting.”

So I have failed to master the banjo part, I have failed to evade my wife’s sarcasm and I am now unable to look over my left shoulder. There has been some progress – I’ve learned to type with finger picks on my right hand – but I’m still worried about holding the band back.

The next evening my wife catches me in the hall as I’m preparing to leave with my banjo case.

“Where are you going?” she says.

“Acton,” I say.

“What for?” she says.

“Rehearsal,” I say. “It’s Thursday.”

“It’s election night,” she says.

“Yes,” I say, “so it is. But, I mean, there’s never really any news before midnight. I’ll be back by then.”

“We’re having a party,” she says. “Eight people are coming to dinner.”

“Are they?” I say. “Well, in that case, um…” I stop, poised between two competing commitments, feeling obliged to weigh my next words carefully. I breathe out and think: index, middle, thumb, middle, thumb, index, middle, thumb.

Until Monday evening we didn’t know whether Son would be able to turn up here this morning, and for a while it looked as if he’d be one of the lucky ones, with flight not yet cancelled and due to arrive 15 minutes after Manchester airport reopens Tuesday morning (if it does). But it was not to be, which I suppose should have been expected after he has narrowly avoided other air traffic disruptions this academic year. Son has a certain talent for ending up with travel disruption where his education is concerned, so why would now be any different?

But let’s return to the subject of Eyjafjallajökull, which Son can pronounce almost to perfection after his year in that place where he’s stuck for the moment. The Resident IT Consultant was amused at the Icelander interviewed on air on Thursday when it all began, because he reported that ‘the ways were closed and the cows were in the houses’. Of course they were.

Son has found himself increasingly annoyed with the BBC on this subject, and has resorted to Icelandic news on the internet. And as the orchids above indicate, I’m a little intrigued at how our trusted newspapers are reporting things.

It’s worth covering the repercussions of businesses going under, and possible shortages of tomatoes, say. But the Thai orchids can’t be unimportant only at Witch Towers, surely? Or the pre-washed salads. Convenient (and yucky, when you think of it), but hardly essential. I noted to my surprise that elusive ingredients for medicine is bad for the pharmaceutical companies. I’d have imagined it’d be worse for those who are ill and may need the medicine to survive. And I’m not going to lie sleepless if Robert Downey can’t make his film premiere next week. Will you?

Why do papers report such silly news? I’m the first to enjoy Lucy Mangan or Tim Dowling poking fun at stuff in an entertaining manner, but who checks what gets into the news pages?

Oh Happy Days: 25 Reasons to be Cheerful

So alright it’s a fluff piece, we have them from time to time fair enough. But this one exhibited such slack-tongued inanity that ‘fluff piece’ would be on the whole a little generous. Tim Dowling lists some reasons why we ought to be cheerful and completely misses what I might assume are some easy chances for a pretty funny article. I’ll try and keep this brief because god knows he’s had it pretty bad in the comments section already but… ah hell I can’t help myself.

Exhibit A) ‘The skies are dark, the weather is terrible, your job isn’t safe, the economy is in a trough, the planet is heating up, the Tories are about to win an election for the first time in 13 years…’

First sentence, impressive. How many newspaper pieces have you read this month that start like this? How many do you think you’ve read in your life? How many do you reckon have been printed? Now add them up. Do we need another one? Everyone thinks January is miserable okay fine but we’re told this every bloody year alongside those irritating ‘this is the most depressing day of the year’ reports that are always guaranteed to depress you. I should be thankful that he isn’t…

Exhibit B) ‘…yesterday was officially the most depressing day of the year…’

…Jesus wept Tim.

Exhibit C) ‘Johnny Depp is alive!’

Oh good. Mind you so is Alec Baldwin, Julie Andrews, Macho Man Randy Savage… oh I’m sorry I thought we were just listing people who were alive. Turns out he’s referencing an internet rumour that he had died that was apparently tearing people’s lives apart over the weekend. I hold my hands up to not knowing about this but this clocks in as his number 4 thing to be cheerful about which is a bit weak for 4 points in mate. He even admits ‘If you hadn’t heard anything about the rumours in the first place then this isn’t particularly good news’. Kind of shooting yourself in the foot there aren’t you Dowling? The Guardian considers this so important to our happiness in fact that they ran it as part of the title and deemed it a reasonable excuse for including a Pirates of the Caribbean era picture of Depp to suck in the girls I would imagine. I shouldn’t be so surprised they put so much stock in an internet sensation really, this is the paper that can’t publish an article without sporadically inserting the word ‘Twitter’ every ten words or so.
Seriously though I am happy Depp is alive obviously, the longer he stays alive the longer he has to figure out how to play a role as anything other than just ‘Johnny Depp but a bit high’.

Exhibit D) ‘At first we thought it was going to be a mild winter, meaning councils had thoughtlessly stockpiled way too much grit. Then we had all that snow, and it suddenly looked as if we had far too little grit. Then, as stockpiles dwindled to nothing, the snow stopped, so we ended up stockpiling more or less the right amount of grit.’

That honestly looks like he has transcribed a six-year-old’s account of what every ITN News broadcast condensed into one sentence would sound like. His 14th point is that we’ll see the sun again some time soon. Having used all the ideas offered to him by his local primary school he continues…

Exhibit E) ‘Tony Blair is going to give evidence to the Chilcot Inquiry On Friday… if nothing else, it should prove the most dramatic daytime television viewing of the month.’

I cut out the bit that talks about how he has to face some awkward questions about the legality and timing of the Iraq war because I want to make his quotes look stupid so to be fair to Tim, yes that will be interesting but a reason to be cheerful? Watching the former leader we elected squirm under a grilling about his decision to take our country to a war where many young men and women died and continue to die is a reason to be cheerful? More like a reason to drink copious amounts of hard liquor. He should have called this article 25 Reasons to Leave the Country.

Exhibit F) ‘A 76-year-old Polish beekeeper, Jozef Guzy, collapsed while working, stopped breathing, went cold and was pronounced dead by a doctor, but just as they were sealing him in his coffin someone noticed he had a pulse. He was then rushed to hospital where doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with him. Obviously, there’s something terribly wrong with him, but it’s still a nice story.’

No sir, no it is not. It is a horrifying tale the stuff of which urban legends are made out of. I think I’ve seen this story in a black and white Polish film accompanied by miserable violin solos. That actually sent a shiver down my spine, what kind of messed up ways do you get your jollies Dowling?

There are many other reasons to be angry at this pile of puckered arses in text form but this isn’t fun anymore. I realise it’s all a bit ‘nod and a wink’ but it’s so smug and gleefully meaningless I wanted to grab the monitor and shake it until the stupid fell out. The worst thing is he has some pretty good reasons to be cheerful mixed in here and there that are quite interesting. If he had maybe researched a little harder and filled the article with entries like the man who survived being trapped under rubble in Haiti for 11 days and the news released today that officially we are coming out of a recession this would have been a much less nauseating read and I would have a much less nauseating lunch hour and you wouldn’t have had to read me get angry at the Guardian website for a thousand words. Are you happy now Tim Dowling? Look what you’ve done!

DH.

While it’s too easy to take pot shots at this (how much insight can a 15 year-old give us other than how much porn he watches, for example) I think it’s a great piece of PR. For a start, using a 15-year-old to do a piece of work is two fingers up at the plethora of companies charging huge sums for this kind of thing, but it’s also a really strong piece of lateral thinking from someone at MS – I mean, why can’t a 15- year-old give us advice on these kind of issues?

Tim Dowling at the Guardian did a great follow up piece on the story, ‘testing’ the findings on his own ’14 year-old media expert’ (who insisted on anonymity). I’ve listed his comments below – along with (as if you’re interested) the habits of a 27-year-old, male, working in PR (that’s me, ok?).

Television Robson describes teenage viewing as erratic, claiming “they will watch a particular show at a certain time for a number of weeks . . . but then they may watch no television for weeks after the programme has ended.” My expert says: “People don’t go for weeks without watching telly.”

Urghhhh, I don’t ever get home from work in time for TV – though do make time for Mad Men and have a weird obsession with reality TV cop shows like Cops with Cameras, Road Wars, Traffic Cops – I could go on. Maybe this means something?

Gaming With consoles that connect to the internet, says Robson, online chatting between gamers is beginning to impact on mobile use: “One can speak for free over the console and so a teenager would be unwilling to pay to use a phone.” My consultant remains unconvinced: “I don’t know any teenagers who use their Xbox instead of a phone.”

Ha! As if I have time for gaming. But a lot of my friends still do (most of them are ‘between jobs) and they mainly play on the Wi, or Xbox 360. Though I agree with the Guardian, how many people are going to use their consoles instead of phones?

The internet My insider concurs with Robson’s assertion that “many teenagers use YouTube to watch videos” but disagrees with the idea that those videos are “mainly anime”. “It’s mainly people humiliating themselves,” he says.

I’ve got to agree with the Guardian again here, I’m obsessed with Youtube and a quick check on my last search was largely people humiliating themselves, with; “When Swans Fight Men” and “Bears Attacking People”.

Newspapers Robson insists that “No teenager that I know of regularly reads a newspaper.” My own operative has ceased cooperating by this point, but thanks to Robson I feel able to offer my own conclusions safe in the knowledge that no teens will discover them here. Today’s young persons rarely, if ever, pay for anything they can get for free. The big question then, is this: why do we care what they like?

Ok, so along with every other person in PR, I literally read every newspaper, magazine and parish leaflet out there, ON A DAILY BASIS. I fear there is such a thing as too much knowledge and I feel my brain filling up at an alarming rate.

I’m off to sell my report to a large media company now.

As expected, the Guy Mariano VBS episodes have provided a pretty glorious wallow in the 90s nostalgia mudhole, and I was wondering what they would do when they got to the “Mouse” era – I kind of had this idea that they might just put up the part itself as the week’s episode and move on, because, really, what’s there to say that hasn’t been said a hundred times over and who wouldn’t watch it again.

But they did it up in properly nerdy fashion and got into editing choices, and pretty early on it’s brought up how they put the switch shove-it k-grind as the last trick, which really wasn’t something that resonated with me much at the time the video came out but does kind of represent not just the genius of “Mouse” and the way it was put together but to an extent videos of that whole time frame. Tim Dowling, who more or less achieved skateboard legend status himself off that part, talks about how he used to think the switch b/s tailslide shove-it ought to have been the last trick, which I’m sure prompted a whole other (younger) group to furrow their brows and mouth the words “nuh uh switch front shove crooks”… but both of these are far too on the nose, something that I’m sure Rick Howard completely understands and would instantly brush off with some muttered “uhh, it’s just a skate video” comment. Which would be true.

Whether or not Guy Mariano’s part in “Mouse” would still be the best part evar if it ended on (insert preferred/gnarlier trick here) is a question best left to those who deal in alternate dimensions and infinite worlds*… but I do think “Mouse” would’ve been a slightly lesser video had they put Koston last, big trick heroics and all. Perhaps the point is the build-to-a-peak model needn’t be the only way to look at putting together a part, similar to how the best-part-last-second-best-part-first-etc roadmap isn’t necessarily the sole path to skate video greatness. We’re all aware of Osiris’s problems but a nod to their ballsiness for ending not one but two vids on shared parts; as long as Baker Bros. productions tend to drag, and they do, they deserve credit for playing out the thread til the bleary frayed end. Or how about Foundation, giving the last section in their most recent production to an only sort of reinvigorated Ethan Fowler.

*like maybe Rick Ross

• Michael Sheen is carrying on the great British thesping tradition of starring in any old toss. The actor has made his bones playing figures like Tony Blair in The Queen, David Frost in Frost/Nixon, and Brian Clough in The Damned United. But he’s fed his family with swill like Underworld: Rise of the Lycans. He’s since joined Twilight sequel New Moon as the leader of an Italian vampire coven. Sheen has a way to go before achieving the hacky stature of Sir Michael Caine, but he’s off to a nice start. (Variety)
• London gangland dramas are two a penny, but London Boulevard is shaping up in the “great cast, lousy title” category. The film stars waifish Keira Knightley and shepherd’s pie-like Colin Farrell, and they’re being joined by hardman Ray Winstone, grumpy David Thewlis and the delightful Anna Friel. Farrell will play a released convict who becomes tangled up with in a waifish actress’ scrawny thighs. Winstone will be the gang boss who ensures mutual infatuation doesn’t run smooth. Booklist says Ken Bruen’s novel “packs one hell of a powerful punch.” (Variety)
• Pirates of the Caribbean helmer Gore Verbinski has had enough shivered timbers, cheers, and would like to move on with his life. So does that mean more tragicomedies about depressed weathermen? No. The director’s staying soggy and sailing into Bioshock waters. Verbinski will be in charge of making the video game about a man stranded in an underwater city filled with psychotic fishy things into a movie that doesn’t suck. Arr! We mean, “glub!” (Variety)
• The wilderness has done wonders for William Hurt. The 1980s most boring actor has blossomed in supporting roles like A History of Violence. Now he’ll hopefully be bringing bizarre line readings and facial hair to the untitled Robin Hood film that we love to rag on. He plays the Earl of Pembroke, a powerful noble who served both Richard the Lionheart and King John. Wikipedia also claims he was “the greatest jouster of his age.” We prefer to call him “the Liam Neeson role.” (Hollywood Reporter)
• Looking for a little bit of that Wild Hogs male menopausal magic, director Kent Alterman (Semi-Pro) will direct Treehouse Gang for Warner Bros. The film, written by Tim Dowling (Role Models), centers on a group of adults searching for buried treasure and has been described as a grown-up Goonies. We’d make some “Chunk” gag, except that we spent our childhoods locked in a cellar without access to HBO. (Hollywood Reporter)

After being told on one of my earliest work experience to cut the froth (I’m a cappuccino of a person), I am making a concerted effort to take the word ‘I’ out of my pieces. One of my tutors is insistent that using the word ‘I’ in any piece is a crime that should be punishable by death. However, after my first writing class with doyenne of women’s magazines Marcelle D’Argy Smith, the focus was on ‘I’ as honest and confessional, the writer exposing themselves completely to the scrutiny of their reader.

I personally enjoy reading personal comment pieces that use the first person shamelessly; I like being invited into the author’s psyche. But I know others find them self-indulgent and self-obsessed.

What I do object to is when interviewers focus more on themselves than their subject. When Debra Ross, a writer I normally like, interviewed Anne Marie Duff a couple of years ago, she spent most of the article detailing her huge crush of Duff’s husband (the admittedly lovely) James McAvoy. It was all a bit embarrassing. However, I do think that the occasional ‘I’ and comment on how the interviewee interacts with the interviewer on a personal level is forgivable.

So what’s the general consensus: how much ‘I’ should there be in good journalism?

Anna was very pleased to see the Weekend makeover, mainly because it saw Lucy Mangan lose her deeply annoying column on the page following Tim Dowling’s (and doesn’t he look older in the new photo?). Alas, we soon realised that Mangan has simply been moved over to the agony aunt column, which naturally Anna then read. Dan, meanwhile, got deeply depressed by the news section, particularly Ian Jack’s column about how Britain will be rubbish in the future (but not quite as rubbish as India). Then Will Self rambled a bit about W.G. Sebold.

Saturday was rounded off with us both discovering the Landmark Trust via the Travel section. Possibly this was the best thing about Saturday’s paper. That and, as again Martin pointed out, all the new white space in the mag.

Paul Rudd and Seann William Scott star in “Role Models” as Danny and Wheeler, two salesmen who trash a company truck on an energy drink-fueled bender. Upon their arrest, the court gives them a choice: do hard time or spend 150 service hours with a mentorship program. After one day with the kids, however, jail doesn’t look half bad.

Surrounded by annoying do-gooders, Danny struggles with his every neurotic impulse to guide Augie (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) through the trials of becoming a man. Unfortunately, the guy just dumped by his girlfriend (Elizabeth Banks) has only sarcasm to offer a bashful 16-year-old obsessed with medieval role play.

Meanwhile, charming Wheeler tries to trade in an addiction to partying and women to assist a fifth-grader named Ronnie (Bobb’e J. Thompson) redirect his foul-mouthed ways. It would probably help if Ronnie’s new mentor wasn’t an overgrown adolescent whose idea of quality time includes keggers in Venice Beach.

Once the center’s ex-con director (Jane Lynch) gives them an ultimatum, Danny and Wheeler are forced to tailor their brand of immature wisdom to their charges. And if they can just make it through probation without getting thrown in jail, the world’s worst role models will prove that, sometimes, it takes a village idiot to raise a child.

Ook te zien via Empire Online.
RoleModelsmovie.com.