Review: 2008

When I draw back the curtains to reveal a dull grey south-east London on 1 January with the New Year’s Day concert live from the Musikverein in Vienna on in the background, it always feels like the start of something new, something exciting. I’ve got the opportunity for a new start. Everything from the previous year can, should and will be forgotten. At least that’s what I hope every 1 January.

In anticipation of that (and in a desperate bid to find something to write about two days before the end of 2008) I took myself off to our new hideaway and made a few notes. What were the things which I would remember 2008 for? Scribbling my answers down didn’t take long.

1. Jimmy Mizen
2. Eurovision
3. The BBC Proms

The list is both short and uncomfortable. The small handful of people who read this will, no doubt, note with interest the weird yet predictable juxtapositioning of a serious news event, alongside fundamentally inconsequential fluff and inevitable self-indulgence.

Truth is, I don’t have any other stuff on my list. Those three things really do sum-up 2008 for me.

Jimmy Mizen

Jimmy Mizen’s murder in May 2008 wasn’t the first teenage stabbing in east London this year. It was in fact the 13th.

There were 27 other teenage stabbings in East London this year. There have been plenty of others in previous years. Stabbings and murder and attacks were normally the stories which failed to grab my attention. So what makes 2008 so different from the rest?

Proximity was the most potent factor. Mizen died in Lee, an area in south-east London I often pass through on my way to the supermarket. Many people say it and a lot of us gloss over it, but it’s true when I say that 16 year old Mizen’s senseless death in the Lee bakery seemed all the more tragic because it was so painfully local. He worked there to get some extra cash. He was 16. The murder happened just a few miles away. That kind of thing isn’t meant to happen.  

Get a grip. This is London, after all. Surely a stabbing shouldn’t really be that incongruous against the backdrop of a supposedly violent capital?

Mizen’s mother delivered a clear message to all, something which I had forgotten about until I viewed the video clip on this page. Now I watch it again I’m struck by her strength. Her message is unusually inspiring. She isn’t angry (or if she is she’s avoiding it spectacularly) and doesn’t want others to be angry with the perpetrator’s parents. She even goes as far as to say “leave them alone”. That is admirable. There’s much to be drawn from the strength she displays only seven days after the death of her 16 year old son, a week after his birthday. She is to be applauded.

Eurovision collides

Around about this time, I was mid-way through a project at work which I’d always wanted to work on.

I’d followed the Eurovision for years. I’d even gone to Latvia to do a spot of naiive investigation during the 2003 contest. I rather like the Eurovision, you see. And I’d quite like us to win. 

As a result of finally getting a job at the Beeb in October of 2007 and (in precisely the right department) I shamelessly locked all of my self-promoting skills in gear and ended up working on the Eurovision website.

I wouldn’t want anyone to think it was plain sailing, or that everyone was necessarily as excited and relieved as I was to work on it. In retrospect, enthusiasm and passion isn’t necessarily something everyone applauds. One or two people hated me. There were one or two heated conversations/steaming arguments in corridors as a result of it. One fairly senior person accused me of being of a maverick as I stood in the corridor with a coffee in my hand. I was a little taken aback, to say the least. No-one has ever described me as a maverick before. Most deliver their assessment with an air of indifference.

I’d been working on the Eurovision site since late February. I delivered a smallish effort in early March (I did stamp my foot quite a few times) and following a series of false starts and one or two agonising nights failing to get to sleep, I ended up working on the main site during the run up to the main even in mid-May.

It was a hideous time.

A week before the Eurovision final (which happened to be the end of the Eurovision website project) I took myself off to Suffolk to see my parents. Work had become way too much for me to handle. I needed a break. I needed comfort food. I needed my teddy bear.

I was working harder than I’d worked in a long time (if ever there was a justification for the line “careful what you wish for” it was then) and it showed. My mother was quite worried about the colour of my skin. Now I come to look at the picture, I think she was right. 

I drove up to Suffolk to see my Mum on Saturday 17 May 2008. The journey started in south-east London. I headed towards Kidbrooke roundabout for the Blackwall tunnel. Lining the roads on the South Circular close to where I live in Hither Green, south-east London people walking solemnly in the same direction, all of them dressed in black.

Where were they going? They were heading towards Jimmy Mizen’s memorial service in nearby Lee High Road.

BBC Proms

The Eurovision came crashing to the ignominous end we’ve all grown accustomed to here in the UK around about 2am on Sunday 26 May 2008. It was then the website producer said “Yes, OK. We’ve got the finals scores up on the website. Everything’s done. We’re finished. Are you happy Jon?”

No. The answer was no. Not only had we come last but I’d had to code up a page which detailed exactly which country had come in which place. Typing the UK’s pitiful result last seemed like such a mean thing to have to do. Both of my friends who had accompanied me through the hell they knew it would be were now asleep on the sofa downstairs. The night was a right-off.

You’d think I’d have been happy to have finished something I’d always wanted to work on, wouldn’t you? You’ve done that Jon .. now sit back and feel proud.

The problem with me is that when I’ve been ridiculously busy for a couple of months, the resulting lack of something to do is the very worst thing for me. I start thinking when I don’t have enough to do and when I start thinking I start moaning. And when I start moaning everyone else around me starts thinking (and in some cases saying) “Would you be good enough to stop being so bloody morose about everything?”

It was Monday 27 May 2008 when I fired off an email to Radio 3 Interactive asking them if they were interested in some more Proms related videos.

With Eurovision 2008 a dim and distant memory, I was keen to look forward to the next big event and to see whether I might crowbar my way into that too. The response was favourable and despite one or two scary moments warranting enormous amounts of wine, charm and reassurances on my part, all turned out well. Everything turned out very well. In fact, it wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration to say that it turned out to be the best summer ever.

You need to be aware of the people who made it the best summer ever – or at least those people who were involved need to know I’m thinking of them – them lovely people being Andi, David, Ashley, Dean, James, Roland, Roger, Simon and, of course, myself. It’s a team effort this.

Far from a hard-hitting news review, is it? It’s not meant to be. These are the things which, as 2008 draws to a close, are flagged up as the most important. I only hope that when 2009 draws to a close any review I might choose to do will see me feature considerably less, if not at all.

Happy New Year.

Oh, and in case you’re interested, the UK’s 2009 hunt for someone game and able to represent us in the forthcoming Eurovision Song Contest in Moscow – Eurovision: Your Country Needs You – starts on Saturday 3 January (yes really, that soon). Or at least the first installment is the sort of “this is what we’ve done so far” programme before the main event begins the following week.

TV: Queen’s Christmas Message

Queen’s Christmas Message, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Christmas Day was rather busy what with preparing for Christmas lunch, cooking it, serving it and then watching the likes of Doctor Who and Wallace and Grommit.

All in all, a truly fab day spent in the company of family and friends.

In light of the heavy workload and rather tight schedules on the day, the only opportunity I had to observe that other Christmas tradition – the Queen’s speech – was when I sat in the bath.

I’d hate for the Queen – or the royal message – not to be a part of the Christmas Day celebrations, but the truth is that having watched it twice now I’ve got to confess that a lot of what was said was really quite a lot of white noise. This may have something to do with the fact that Her Majesty does rather have to tailor her words (assuming she actually writes the script – I suspect not) to appeal to as many peopile who are probably enebriated or stressed or sleeping off their high carb intake.

In comparison to the Pope’s poorly effort earlier in the week, Queen Elizabeth did alright spectacularly breaking the 3 minute video rule I’ve heard so much about this year, delivering her conclusion at a mere 7 minutes 30 seconds.

But for sheer punchiness and effectiveness, the Archbishop of Canterbury gets the top vote for conveying something fitting and quite possibly lasting.

Far from adhering to the religious aspect of his Christmas Day address, I was more struck by the frighteningly effecient headline message encouraging us to make “small and local gestures”.

It’s a soundbite which appeals to my self-satisfying “less is more” personal mantra. Well done Archbishop of Canterbury sir.

<a href=”http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00g7rh5/The_Queen_2008/”>The Queen on TV</a>

The Queen on Radio (available outside the UK, I believe I’m right in saying).

Christmas eve traditions

Salmon terrine, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Being a blogger – and one who frequently runs short of reasonably interesting things to write about – I’m always scrabbling around looking for suitable inspiration in a bid to get my regular 500 or so words out.

Up until yesterday morning I had thought I might be thinking about whether or not I’d actually embraced the religious aspect of the festive season. It is, after all, the whole point of Christmas. Celebrating Jesus Christ’s birth and all that.

Pope Benedict’s end-of-year address to various Vatican bigwigs kind of put that thought process to rest. Gregory’s standpoint on homosexuals didn’t especially come as a surprise. He was after all just towing the party line.

But even though I’ve not hitherto possessed a latent desire to convert to Catholicism, his headline message did rather leave feel a little left out in the cold.

If I was formerly about to go through a road to Damascus experience, understand and feel the true meaning of Christmas, shun consumerism and then blog about it, Pope Benedict’s end-of-term presentation just left me painfully aware that the largest church in the world wasn’t terribly keen on homosexuals and only served to underline that religion is an earthly construct with all those hideous unpleasant rules drawn up by earthy individuals.

Hey ho. At least there’s the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. I can always just sing along to the carols and relive my childhood.

There is, however, one other perhaps even more important tradition which I realise I really get off on at Christmas. It does perhaps surpass all others.

It’s the food. I love the food. Christmas food is all about preparation, preparing food for the big event on Christmas Day. It’s about project management. It’s about keeping a reasonably careful eye on the budget whilst juggling the schedule and keeping in mind the grand vision.

In short, Christmas food is about being a producer. It calls on nerves of steel, untold amounts of energy, patience, understanding, persuasion, boundless amounts of enthusiasm and an overwhelming sense of excitement at the prospect of seeing the end product light up the eyes of its recipients.

Nine people will sit around a six foot round table in our lounge tomorrow afternoon. Everything that can be has been prepared already (the salmon terrines are looking especially fab, personally speaking whislt Nigella’s gingerbread stuffing as yet uncooked offers much for tomorrow). Four hours in the kitchen yesterday, another four today. At times the place looked like a bomb had hit it. Now, it’s prepared ready for the big day, all of it ready in time to listen to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols – the very beginning of Christmas.

Christmas present anxiety

I’m staring at the presents on the train seat in front of me. They don’t look very big and there doesn’t seem to be anywhere near enough. Should I have bought more? Don’t my parents deserve more than this?

In spite of the credit crunch, my debit card has seen quite a lot of activity over the past few days. It’s paid for a massive online food shop and a handful of presents sourced from the internet too. It’s been whipped out at a moment’s notice to post woefully late Christmas cards to Australia and the US, as well as meeting my impulsive desires as I flirt with supposedly must-have goods in various stores. The smallest transaction, and to my mind the one which represents the best value for money, was to pay for the repair of my bike – a mere £12.50 to repair a painfully slow puncture.

As far as distance is concerned, my shopping trips have not seen me venture out too far. Westfield – Europe’s largest shopping mall – was the first destination, certain as I was that it’s proximity to work at White City would make it ideal for all my Christmas shopping. Not so. Only half an hour dodging slow-moving families as I make internal notes to “come back to that shop later and get that” I was exhausted. I slumped in front of a friend and an Americano for a much-needed break before trudging back home.

A few transactions on the internet under my belt, I reckoned I’d try again with real shopping. I pootled off to the nearby Lewisham Shopping Centre with a list of things I needed to get, confident I could always press on to Canary Wharf or the West End if I absolutely needed to.

Energy and enthusiasm failed me on this occasion too. I knew exactly where I wanted to go in Lewisham Shopping Centre, but as I wandered around WHSmith eyeing up potential gifts for my parents I soon realised that this was the final stop. I had no desire to go on to another shopping venue. I’d have to find everything I needed in Lewisham.

Hesitation gripped me. I wanted to get everything now. I wanted to return home with gifts in my bag smug in the knowledge that all the chores were now done and I wouldn’t have to stress about it anymore. But I couldn’t find anything? Some things were too cheap, some things way too expensive. Some things I knew my parents wouldn’t want or enjoy what would be the point in buying that? Exactly who derives the pleasure when a rashly considered obviously crap gift is bought in a rush? The giver feels guilty as hell and the recipient is left asking “Why?”

In the end I opted for being resourceful. What do I want to give this year? What do I want to say? What do I give when they have everything anyway? Is a gesture really enough? Do parents need big shiny boxes on Christmas Day? How many bottles of aftershave does a Dad actually need?

Guilt is what propels me around the shops both online and in person.

Everything has to be perfect at Christmas otherwise it’s a failure – at least that’s how it seems to me. In pursuit of that perfection my vision of what the optimum number and size of gifts for the perfect image of a tree on Christmas day morning seriously comes in to play when I’m shopping. I have to rein myself in and resist reaching for the credit card when I’m certain the debit card will get rejected.

Deep inside there’s an overriding desire to look at Christmas differently this year. The gift-giving aspect to the season is exhausting. The season brings enough guilt as it is without the additional worries about whether I’ve found the perfect for someone.

If I’m in search of an alternative experience, I’m can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. I know it’s not a full on submission to the religious celebration. I know technically it should be, I just can’t. To do that will mean believing in God and proclaiming that throughout the year. I’m not ready for all that just yet (if at all). I’m not entirely convinced my significant other is ready for me to do that either.

Baby steps first. Take the church music and a flirtation with the majesty of the Christmas story and throw in an exchange of gifts small in size but big on gesture and resourcefulness. Factor in one or two fingers crossed and a healthy number of reality checks and the usual Christmas present anxiety could well be a thing of the past in future years. We can but hope.

TV: Royal Variety Performance 2008

Mark Owen sings his little heart out at the Royal Variety Performance, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

We swung by the Royal Variety Performance quite by accident at around about 9.20pm.

You’d think with such a grandly billed event like the Royal Variety Performance and me being such a BBC sponge, I’d have made a point of settling down with a sharp pencil and a reporter’s notebook in a bid to produce a achingly long blog posting in response to it.

The likes of the Royal Variety Performance does normally give me the fear. It is exactly the kind of programme which I know I remember enjoying as a kid possibly because I knew I could chance my arm and stay up just that little bit longer. I’d see stuff on TV I’d not normally see. At least, that how it seemed.

What a complete idiot. Watch it now and I realise it’s family entertainment, guaranteed to underwhelm by virtue of the fact that it has to appeal to as many people as it possibly can not least the member of the royal family trapped in the box conscious that the camera will focus on his or her reactions.

What we saw of the final 40 minutes was actually rather good, so good in fact we fell in to the oh-so-predictable-and-much-applauded TV technique employed by TV people the world over.

It works like this. “We’ll give them this act to watch. It will only last three minutes. As this particular act finishes their performance the viewer will end up thinking they’d quite like to see what’s coming on next just to compare.”

Picture the unsuspecting, slightly naiive viewer in his/her chair, slumped in front of the TV ready to be all scathing and dismissive when Take That come on. “I bet that Owen bloke is miming,” I chimed as I took another swig of beer.

Take That weren’t miming – at least Mark Owen wasn’t in Shine – Jimmy Carr was quite good, Peter Kay was brilliant (although frankly, I was just waiting for *that* Christmas song) and it was just about alright to see Graham Norton in drag for La Cage aux Folles

But most striking (in a slightly geeky way) was the TV presentation. There was something reassuringly retro about seeing something like the RVP – essentially a theatre performance filmed for TV – with it’s final curtain call and the royal line-up. Cameras glided around the auditorium, sweeping shots complimented the action and most of the musical numbers did look good on TV. They had obviously been produced for TV.

Why is this so important .. to me, at least? It’s important because given my weird obsession with the idea of us hosting the Eurovision Song Contest again, I’m naturally keeping an eye on what it might look like on TV if we ever got to win the contest. Obviously, the UK has some way to go yet (although news Gordon Brown has set a final troop withdrawal date might help us, who knows?) and in the event that we did win I’m sure there would be other people wheeled in to do the big job on the night.

Still, messrs Tumbridge, Smith and Bishop did a lovely job at the Royal Variety Performance. Well done them. *

* I should like to point out that I am in no way “crawling” up to producery-type people Tumbridge, Smith and Bishop. I don’t do that kind of thing.

TV: Charlie Brooker’s Screenwipe (5/6)

Sadly, pesky rights ‘n’ stuff might possibly mean that the nice piece about Oliver Postgate on Mr Brooker’s Screenwipey thing this evening may not be viewable again.

Really sorry. Still, follow this link just in case. You never know.

The thing is I’m really not going to want to check first thing in the morning. I really wouldn’t mind jacking this in for a bit really. Just a few days. It is Christmas after all.

Is Madoff someone to blame for the economic crisis?

Making plans, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Best of luck to David Cameron who today seized the opportunity to occupy some kind of high-ground concerning the growing financial crisis.

Is it a recession ? Is it a credit crunch ? Is it an impending catastrophe? Who really knows. I’ve heard conflicting assessments quite a bit just recently. I’m confused. But then that’s hardly surprising given that I got a C-grade at GCSE maths. I was a creative, more artistic. Maths just wasn’t my thing. At least, that’s my defence.

Cameron is right, in some respects. If there are people responsible for defrauding financial institutions out of billions of pounds (or dollars) then they should really be brought to book. So too those individuals in the financial institutions who will undoubtedly plead the victim card for having been swizzed by a clever fraudster intent (if we are to summise correctly) on making a fortune at the expense of others.

What strikes me hardest is to what extent I feel relieved at hearing about Bernard Madoff’s arrest. It’s an utterly selfish, misguided and shameful sense of relief rooted firmly in a clear demonstration of denial on my part.

It goes like this.

In trying to lift us out of the economic crisis, the Government’s watchword here is to get as many people as possible to spend as much money as possible thus kick-starting the economy. We need more money flowing through the system. So go spending.

Those of us in debt are also aware at the same time of the need to cut back. These are lean times. We need to be more effecient, cut back on an extravagant lifestyle. These supposedly demanding economic times also remind us that we have a debt to pay back. We must also pay that back if the economy is to get back on it’s feet. At least, that’s the way I see it as I sit and think about my debt bill.

Inevitably I do look back on the past five-ten years and rather wish I been a little more prudent back then like I am slowly teaching myself to be now. I seem to be managing to plan food shops and curb present buying and focus on smaller, less expensive Christmas-related pleasures quite well now. Why couldn’t I have succeeded in doing that years ago and thus avoided the bill I face now?

Then I read about Bernard Madoff and remind myself about how little I understand about the economic crisis. Was it just that banks became unable or reluctant to lend to one another or is there actually someone or (a group of people) who can be blamed for the crisis? Were there fraudsters at work? Are we now able to blame investment bankers for the problems we’re in now? And, if we are, is it possible that me NOT borrowing money over the past ten years wouldn’t have made any difference anyway?

That’s where my argument falls down largely because I’m not informed enough about that which is levelled at them. At least, that’s how it feels. Money and the economy and politics are all subjects I feel I need to know more about before I can have an opinion.

And here I am and here you are reading this. Lack of knowledge hasn’t stopped me writing this. Regardless of my lack of knowledge, as a consumer I’m slowly beginning to feel less guilty about the debt I racked up over the past ten years and that – shamefully – is down purely to the fact that it appears I have someone else to blame for the financial crisis we face. And that leaves and extremely sour taste in my mouth, I’m prepared to admit.

Radio: Saturday Play – Blithe Spirit

Despite my best intentions to be organised, effecient and economical this year when it comes to sending out Christmas wishes, I have made a batch (more than I had originally thought I would) and now have to scrabble around looking for last year’s distribution list.

There will be some people disappointed, I suspect, as I forget some recipients or discover I have misplaced their addresses, so for them I offer the craft production line video above to placate them.

This year’s little craft activities were carried out listening to a cracking performance of Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit, the Saturday play on Radio 4. I did quite literally switch on the radio right at the top of the hour and fell into some sparkling dialogue (predictably) and some brilliant performances. It’s an hour an a half long, but it’s perfect if you need to knuckle down and get some chores done. Best make listening to it on a rainy afternoon just to add to the effect.

Listen to Blithe Spirit on the BBC iPlayer. Really. Go on. You won’t be disappointed.

#iPlayerDay: Birthday Wishes

It’s been an exciting day for me today and for the BBC iPlayer which celebrates it’s first birthday today. Watch this short and sweet little video presentation to find out a little more.

Burger King’s Whopper Virgins

For the full video feature go to www.whoppervirgins.com

For a few days now I have been preoccupied with Burger King’s latest, seemingly controversial advertising campaign. Let me explain.

A tweet update takes me off to www.whoppervirgins.com and before I realise I’ve been taken off guard. My attention is drawn to the quality of the video I’m watching on the screen. Somehow, I’m seeing a high quality image without the usual pixellation I experience with an image of this size.

The player is set in a tasty black background. It communicates something. It communicates something serious, something slightly off the wall and yet considered at the same time.

When my eyes rest on the Burger King logo in the bottom left hand corner of the screen I find myself conflicted. This is a fast-food outlet and yet the sight of the page communicates something different.

Then there’s the video content itself. There’s a simple idea being communicated with an original notion being tested. Are the most accurate taste-testers those who’ve never tasted a burger before and, where exactly do we find those people?

In case you’re wondering, I hadn’t read over any other blog comments about Burger King’s latest campaign, so I came to this fresh.

The idea of the film seemed like a good one. There was something engaging about the idea of taking as much portable cooking equipment to far flung corners of the world and cooking up a burger for someone who’s never seen one before.

The way the video was shot communicated with me. This was proper video on the web. It was nearly eight minutes too and I was watching all the way to the end. This was breaking the three minute rule I’ve heard so much about recently.

Yes, the idea did slowly creep into my head about whether or not it was right. Was there an unpleasant after taste here? (Please forgive the pun.) I wasn’t necessarily seeing the poverty that some people say was obvious to all, instead I saw happy people dressed in their traditional garb. Even so, should we really be introducing something alien into a culture just for the sake of advertising?

That was a personal reaction based on very little researched information about Burger King or it’s rivals come to that. Free of the comments posted in response to the video I engaged with it afresh – not unlike the people who tasted their first burger really. The truth is, I didn’t get to the end of it and feel certain those contributors had been exploited. Everyone seemed reasonably happy (although admittedly, we didn’t necessarily get to see any footage of people really unhappy).

What spoke to me more was the initial idea and the way it was executed. I found myself engaged when I watched and whether it’s right or wrong, I found myself convinced that I would probably go for a Whopper rather than a Big Mac in future. And I found myself wanting a blog posting about it. Surely the digital agency behind it Crispin Porter + Bogusky  ticked all the boxes they needed to?

But if you’re reading this and thinking that I’m just another gullible so-and-so taken in by Crispin Porter + Bogusky, you’re missing one fundamental point.

I might think I like the idea of a Whopper burger more than a Big Mac but Burger King, like their rivals, is going to have to go a long long way before I feel comfortable buying one. Give me the choice between a restaurant or a fast food outlet and the sight of the latter is sure to persuade me to get me a table and sit down and take an hour to eat.

I just don’t enjoy the fast-food burger purchasing experience. It’s loud, it’s bright and invariably the places stink of chip fat and bleach. The floor is usually sticky underfoot and if I’ve braved the counter and ordered one the prospect of eating a burger inside fills me with fear and dread. Seeing as I object to people eating their burger on the tube, I realise the only place I can eat mine is on the street. And there ain’t any way I’m going to do that.

Burger King, KFC and MacDonalds have some way to go yet.

TV: Louis Theroux – Law and Disorder in Johannesburg

Is it right to define Louis Theroux’s latest documentary as TV? Technically, yes as it was on BBC Two to begin with. But for me, I’m thinking it’s probably necessary to redefine such visual experiences in terms of the type of material I’m watching and how I’m watching it, at least for this blog. In this case, the title should really be “documentary” and “mobile phone”.

Theroux’s hour-long piece about crime in Johannesburg was something I was certain I wouldn’t get a chance to see. Although I’m an iPlayer supporter and do from time to time watch an entire programme on my laptop, I’m still largely someone who relies on his Sky+ box to catch up on TV assuming I don’t watch it the moment it’s broadcast. Inevitably, I’ve missed Theroux’s piece on Law and Disorder in Philadephia. Hey, I usually arrive late to everything.

Over the past few days I’ve seen a number of people comment on Theroux’s programme. It was one of many Twitter updates which I have overlooked. Twitter has become increasingly annoying in recent weeks – a necessary evil destined to feature in a future posting, no doubt – and I was very close to ignoring yet another one about the documentary.

At 6.00pm this evening, however, I confronted my irritation, processed through it and downloaded it to my phone. I’d watch it on my way home.

Theroux didn’t disappoint. On my tiny 2 inch screen, his usual style shone out. His seemingly naiive inquisitiveness engages me, his gentle but thorough questioning indispensible.

But it’s his bravery in this particular documentary which really hit me hard. There were moments as I peered at my mobile on my way home when I feared what he was getting himself into. I wanted him to ask more questions, wanted him to go into buildings I didn’t dare to go in myself. I gasped when he went inside one very dark block of flats, the camera shining the smallest light into the eery darkness. I wanted him to be careful. I didn’t want harm to come to him.

These were genuine reactions to what I was watching on screen as I made my journey home. It seemed odd to be learning about another city far away as I made my way home. It didn’t matter I was watching on a mobile. Nothing was lost. In fact, it might have been sub-zero temperatures this evening, but I still made a point of walking from the train station to my front door to finish watching.

If you haven’t seen it, you need to. It’s revealing and – as far as I can make out – brutally realistic without being gratuitous.

What hit home more than anything else was the way I was watching it. In recent months I’ve done battle with a man who reckoned that people are incapable of concentrating on small videos for any longer than 3 minutes. Any more than the magic three minutes and they’ll lose interest and go some place else. Nonsense, I responded to him in an email. If the subject material is good people will watch. Not surprisingly, he and I don’t speak anymore.

Theroux’s programme – watched on my mobile phone on my way home – was an hour long. I was gripped to the whole journey. I can’t really remember how I got from one tube to another. That’s how good it was.

Louis’ a god, so too his producer who has a job I never want to have. It’s clearly a collaborative effort – how could it not be. This isn’t just Theroux on his own, although his obvious skill is something to behold. How he manages to draw out responses from people when us in the audience wonder whether he’s inadvertently provoking them is beyond me. But the piece is also a testament to the contributors who agreed to take part, the camera man who makes a point of sweeping from Louis to the contributor (thus emphasising that this isn’t an edited conversation) and the calm and measured way the final piece is put together.

For those of you inside the UK (apologies to the rest of you) you can also catch Theroux’s Law & Disorder in Philadelphia on the BBC iPlayer.

Louis Theroux features in this C21 video talking about his Law & Disorder series.

Graham Norton gets the plum job

Returning home after a smashing Christmas party at the Edge, I was surprisingly pleased to discover the news that Mr Graham Norton will be taking over as Eurovision commentator from Sir Terry Wogan. 

Perhaps there was the tiniest of disappointment discovering that a personal dream now lay in tatters, but still I’m sure he’ll do a good job. 

If he doesn’t, then it goes without saying that there is a “reserve” available. 

I will, of course, be watching like a hawk.

Dolce & Gabbana’s pants

They’re just pants, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Dolce and Gabbana are cashing in on the Christmas shopping frenzy (if there is one) by launching their latest poster campaign on the London Underground. In this perennial effort, D&G are hoping to turn heads and sell a shed load of pants as well.

The posters are certainly turning heads – well, at least one. In fact, one commuter can be observed shuffling past the revolving poster display hoping to catch a glimpse of the same poster a second time before he has to run off to catch his Central line tube.

It’s shameless titillation on D&G’s part. And they’re everywhere. And they’re treading a fine line between titillation and intense bitterness and resentment.

What exactly are they trying to sell?

They’re selling pants by showing the latest range modelled on a collection of butch (Italian) rugby players. (The photo shoot was totally above board, by the way, you can see a behind the scenes video on the D&G website. I’ve done the research, so you don’t have to.)

The men look good. They look irritatingly good. They have fantastic bodies and wear their pants very well indeed. One of them even looks like he might possibly slip off the bench he’s perched on. I trust there wasn’t a nasty accident. I wouldn’t like the idea of him having suffered any pain during the photo shoot.

After a number of sightings of the poster over the past few days, I’ve come to ponder one very important question about D&G’s advertising campaign.

What exactly is D&G saying?

Is it:

1. You can look as good these men if you buy a pair of D&G pants?

Believe me, I can’t.

They might enhance the crotch, but one look at those waistbands and I know they’ll grip uncomfortably around my waist and reveal an unsightly layer of puppy fat. In short, I will be wasting my money.

2. You can only wear D&G pants if you’re built like these men…

It doesn’t matter how much protein I shovel down my throat or how many times I go to the gym. I am NOT going to look like them. I don’t do either at the present time, so that’s another reason not to buy them.

3. You can only play rugby if you wear these pants.

Such a statement leaves me feeling like a complete failure.

4. You have to be Italian to wear these pants.

Then why advertise the damn things in London? Surely your target audience is going to be quite small. Or, if this is the case are D&G just rubbing my nose in it, so to speak?

5. All rugby players in Italy wear D&G pants.

So?

6. If you give these pants to your partner at Christmas he will also look like one of these rugby players.

I might be gullible, but I’m not a twat.

Once I go through this rigorous process, I’m still left wondering. If the vast majority of people don’t have the kind of bodies these blokes have who look good in what must surely be over-priced, brand heavy undergarments, what the hell is the point in advertising them?

They’re just pants. Why not sell the poster instead?

This is visualising radio

Radio was the reason I wanted to work at the BBC. That was my “way in”. At least that’s what I thought when I came out of the second session of my radio production training course.

I enrolled myself. It was an evening course at Morley College. Three former World Service types ran the course for a knock-down rate.

They evangelised. They inspired. They charged very little money.

Aside from a tricky beginning where it appeared that neither the college hosting the course nor the tutors actually knew when the course began – something us students were a little put out by initially – those ten weeks spent discovering the fundamentals of making a radio package and “producing” a live radio programme were a real joy.

Something clicked, you see. As soon as I sat down in the studio and peered down at the script below the foam head of the microphone I suddenly felt at home. Radio was for me.

The key to breaking into the radio industry was, according to the lead tutor, in persuading various radio producers at the BBC that your radio package was the one they absolutely needed for their programme. An entire lesson was devoted to the art of pitching to producers, the art of persuading BBC producers. There was even special attention given to how to navigate one’s way around that very special type of producer who refused to answer emails and loathed picking up the telephone. Pity they didn’t prepare me for the ones who – apparently – had absolutely no concept of what to do when faced with an MP3 file.

In my confident if misguided eagerness I did frequently come up against some quite bizarre responses from those who I thought were the ones who held the keys to my future success in radioland. Some had no idea what a podcast was. Some didn’t know where to put a CD into a computer. Some, shamefully, didn’t possess a pair of headphones.

You won’t be surprised to learn that aside from a brief stint working with Sandi Toksvig on LBC, radio has remained an unrealised dream.

Part of the problem has been what I had believed was the death of the radio package. Shortly after I started work at the BBC I noted with a slight amount of irritation a conversation between two people on the work message boards mourning the passing of this much treasured audio format.

I was doomed. I’d spent £100+ on learning an art form which I felt really comfortable with and reckoned I could do quite well with if only I could have a break. Here I was, on the periphery of the BBC and it turned out that my skills wouldn’t be required especially as some reckoned it was on its way out.

Only today however, I stumbled on this, an audio slideshow featuring audio from a woman who hasn’t worked ever – nor anyone who lives in the house with her – accompanied by photographs of a lady who, in the business, is callously referred to as “the contributor”.

Why am I blogging about it? Well, there are a number of reasons.

First, is the joy that seeing this on the BBC website provides me with. Listening to the audio (even without the photographs) reminds me that far from the negative comments conveyed by those message board postings back in 2005, the radio package isn’t dead. This is high quality audio, mysterious, robust and engaging. It doesn’t need a commentary because the person speaking is engaging. I end the oh-so-brief 1 minute 47 seconds wanting more. That is the mark of brilliant radio.

Second, is that this is another example of a new development of what I think I’m right in referring to as “visualising radio”, that dangerous development where radio producers dare to join pictures with audio.

Thirdly (and perhaps most importantly), it means that contrary to what some people think, sticking images with audio isn’t bad TV. It isn’t radio trying to be TV either or, worse, radio trying to be bad video on the web.

Instead, it’s a series of thought-provoking images accompanying an already punchy piece of audio, leading the listener into an interesting journey.

This stuff is great. And, thankfully, it means that maybe that training course wasn’t the waste of money I thought it was three and a half years ago.

Beware the perils of Christmas cards

Gocco Christmas Cards, originally uploaded by coreymarie.

Did artist John Calcott Horsley have any idea what he started when he agreed to draw a Christmas card for Sir Henry Cole in 1840? Almost certainly not.

Three years later Sir Henry saw the potential and exploited it. One thousand cards were printed using the same print. One of the originals he sent to his grandmother fetched a mere £8,469 in 2005.

There’s reassurance to be found in the motivation Sir Henry Cole had in commissioning that first design. The idea of writing letters conveying best wishes for the season seemed demanded a more efficient alternative.

Henry Cole was pragmatist. With only a pen a paper, the prospect of writing letters to all his friends must have seemed like way too much work for him. I’m inclined to agree.

I look on the first Christmas card illustration with surprise. There’s a space for the recipient and a space for the signature with a fairly cold “A Merry Christmas and a happy new year to you” in between. Compared to writing a letter, all Cole had to do was write two names. Quite a cold process.

It’s not entirely dissimilar to the experience I have today.

Christmas cards loom over me in the first few weeks of December. It’s a task which absolutely needs to be done, seems like the nicest, easiest thing to do at Christmas and seems like the most daunting Christmas-related task of all. All that writing. All that organisation. All those addresses.

Year after year I try hard to trim down the Christmas card list. Ever since the heady days of school, I’ve strived to edit the recipients. Back then it was about receiving what seemed like year long tokens of friendships from contemporaries. Now, it’s about sharing heartfelt wishes amongst those I feel most close to. The fewer the better. It’s not that I hate people. I just rather like the idea of not being seen as too shallow. If I like I’ll wish you a happy Christmas to your face. If I don’t I won’t.

The problem comes as we get closer to the big day. What started off as pragmatic and cost-effective list of recipients quickly develops into a long guilt-fuelled list of people I’ve forgotten or callously crossed off. I don’t like that situation arising. I always feel so very dirty come Christmas Eve when the inevitable stragglers on the list of names stare up at me. “There’s no chance now,” I’ll think, “maybe I could send them a new year’s card instead?”

Better to start the process early. Get the cards distributed as early as you can to the beginning of December. And yet, do that and you risk imposing the same sense of guilt on your recipients. Maybe, you’re someone who relishes the thought of your friends and associates scrabbling around like mad in the run up to the final posting day as they desperately try to avoid any Christmas-related guilt. Whilst I might occasionally be fuelled by bitterness and resentment there aren’t any people I’d wish that on.

In years gone by I have, I confess, followed the easy path – the one established by Sir Henry Cole. Pictures of cats padding through the snow or stylishly crafted cards from WHSmith normally hit the spot. Set aside two or three evenings to write the cards and envelopes (factoring in a good week to source the addresses) and the job is done. But is there any joy in it?

There isn’t. Merely sitting down and writing the recipient’s name before signing my own name and dutifully passing it on to my partner to sign his makes the process a long and drawn out affair.

Surely, if I’m going to this trouble to send season’s greetings to people I haven’t been in contact with the rest of the year, shouldn’t I be going to the trouble of personalising the message? Otherwise, what exactly am I doing? And for whose benefit exactly? The card will be opened, blue-tacked to the wall for the Christmas season and then recycled (if you’re lucky). A year will pass before the next communication and so it will continue year in, year out.

Over the past few years I have gone to the trouble of making my own cards. Like pickling, there is an undeniable pleasure in constructing your own, especially when the subject of the card is one of your own cats. But having read over the results of a few other, slightly more organised Christmas crafters and considerably more labour-intensive card creations, I’m fearing the prospect of homemade Christmas cards may be one task too many this year.

Unless of course I could make use of a few tasty pictures I’ve found from Flickr today. Keep an eye out for your mail. I am making a list and will be checking it twice before the holiday season is over.