Desert Island Discs is one of the best, although I’m an infrequent listener. The guest has to be someone who interests me. It’s also one of the longest running radio shows in the world. Second only to Grand Ole Opry, I believe. The show has just marked its seventieth anniversary. That’s quite some milestone. The concept is simple. Choose  eight pieces of music, a book and a luxury object. The last of which has to be inanimate, and not something which can aid escape from the island or allow communication beyond its borders. Each guest is provided with the Complete Works of Shakespeare and a bible. Which is handy. Even desert islands can get nippy at night, and a supply of kindling is no bad thing. I loathe Shakespeare.

It’s extremely unlikely that I will ever be invited to regale the Beeb’s listeners with my choices. But I hate being left out. I will enlighten you, my bloggists, with my choices. And please feel free to leave your own in the comments. I am interested. I’ll choice eight singles rather than albums. Singles tend to be more emotive. But maybe I’ll cheat with the book.

The first song is also the most recent. Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. It was voted ‘Song of the Noughties’ by one major poll in the UK, and rightfully so. It, like all of my choices, has a timeless quality about it. Good thing too, because I’ll have just these eight songs to listen to till the end of my days on the desert island.

Second up is Cielito Lindo. Having lived in Mexico for all those years, it would be impossible not to have at least one very Mexican song in my collection. This one not only brings so many memories flooding back, but is also the most beautiful. If music can be beautiful, then this is the perfect example. Especially the version I’ve linked to.

Third place is, perhaps, a little cliche. Maybe all eight are. But the Doors filled a large musical void in my life in the late 80′s and early 90′s and shaped many of my musical tastes. They are one of two bands who have a whole bunch of songs I love and could have picked, but I decided only one song per artist or band. And for the Doors, it is The End. It’s a masterpiece. It’s so melancholic, so soulful and so meaningful. It was the soundtrack to many stoned and otherwise reality altered pleasant afternoons and evenings with my buddies. It’s the soundtrack of a life I had long ago, one that passed into history. I don’t live there any more. It’s a life I miss but have no intention of returning to.

I’d like to visit Jim Morrisons grave in Paris one day. It’d be photogenic. I can leave a momento to his death and the death of my teenage years. While I was flaked out listing to Jim Morrison, there was new music being created. I liked Nirvana, but I never quite got the hype. They were always a distant second to Pearl Jam. Distant. One has mood swings as a teenager, and Alive fulfilled the spots that the Doors couldn’t reach.

Cover songs are rarely a patch on the original. But there is one I think is far, far superior. Gary Jules remake of Mad World. Tears for Fears didn’t do this tune justice. But then they did once fire a girl for not being good enough. A girl who went on to gain fame as Madonna. Jules cover worked. One song which has been covered umpteen times without ever touching the original is the Man Who Sold the World. Along with the Doors, David Bowie is another artist from whom I could pick a bunch of songs. But this was his best. I dig melancholic tunes. But it has to have a tune. Something special. Something unique. Something that you can’t get out of your head, but don’t want it to leave anyway. Where is My Mind by the Pixies fits the bill just perfect.

On to the book. How can you take one book?! I have to confess, I don’t think I’ve ever read a book twice in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I do like to read, and get through plenty of books. But I’ve never felt the urge to pick up a book I’ve already read. There’s just too many books I haven’t read to get through first. But there’s one title I’d like to take with me, although I’m sure it breaks the rules. The Encylopedia Britannica. It’s very me. Jack of all trades, master of none. I’m interested in a wide variety of subjects, but never interested enough to want more than a 60 minute documentary can provide. Plus, it still uses British English. My native tongue has been corrupted by too much exposure to the American version. I regularly use both British and American spelling in the same paragraph. It must stop.

On to the luxury object. This is the tough one. Picking those songs was surprisingly easy. The book too. But what sort of inanimate luxury object can I take? A musical instrument is tempting. A guitar. It’d have longevity in the entertainment department. But I can’t play, and could see me  getting frustrated and placing it on top of the bible and Shakespeare books – aka the kindling. I know this because I did buy a guitar in Oaxaca once. It was a nice ornament, but nothing more.

Here’s my pick. A tennis ball. Or a tube of three, if I may. I’m that sort of person. I can entertain myself for hours on end bouncing a ball against a wall. Or bowling to a wicket. Or playing keepy-ups. Plus, the island is bound to have trees. I can fashion a bat and racquet. Yes, my luxury inanimate object would be a tennis ball. There may also be turtles coming up the beach on my desert island. I can throw the ball for them to fetch. They move slow, but I will have all day.

So that’s my list. Almost. The observant amongst you (or at least those who can count) will have noticed I picked just seven songs. Not eight, as is the rule. Tradition has it that the guest leaves their favourite piece of music till last. Mine is a Pink Floyd track. It had to be. There’s no other band I’ve listened to more. No band I could happily listen to more. And one track stands out above all others. Above even Mother, Wish You Were Here and Comfortably Numb.

My youth had a definitive point at which it ended. Technically, it dragged on a year more. But at a very specific point my wild years were checked. This song doesn’t represent that moment in any way. But it represented my way of life. Whatever your choice of poison, whether it be legal or not, has an effect on you. I was never really a jump up, raving, action type of person. Although I had my moments. I’d consume my poison and enjoy the feeling. Savour it. Make it last. Stare at the stars. Philosophise. Enjoy the wonder. This song brought all those into focus. And in hindsight, the lyrics are fitting when I listen to it today. It’s mellow. It builds up. It explodes. It’s mellow again. It’s wonderful.

Except, the wrap has been an ongoing source of controversy. It was originally one of the highlights of the stadium in the design stage. Then, a couple of years ago it was decided to scrap the wrap to cut costs. I couldn’t believe my ears. Without it, the stadium looks an eyesore. If costs must be cut then there must have been alternatives. And in the big twelve billion pound cost picture, the seven million pound wrap isn’t the most significant or extravagant part of the expenditure.

The wrap was brought back to life though, with Dow pledging to put up the cash and make it themselves. That has just brought more controversy though, with campaigners for the Bhopal tragedy slating the event organisers for allowing Dow to have anything to do with the Olympics. I am not personally swayed by their arguments. Although I do believe they have a campaign that needs and is worthy of the publicity.

But how’s this for an idea that kills two birds with one stone. Cut the ridiculous £7 million cost and the involvement of Dow and just wrap the stadium with a blank canvas. I mean, how much does a frigging roll of canvas cost anyway?! Then invite the graffiti artists of the world to come and do their worst. Graffiti is modern. It’s a community activity, in the best and worst senses of the word. It’s cutting edge. And, if you pick the best artists, they’d produce art well worth visiting the stadium for. Perhaps they could kick off the project by getting Banksy to do a strip or two.

It’d never happen of course. Besides all other considerations, Health and Safety officers would never let a bunch of civilians clamber 20 metres up in the air on ladders. And perhaps for reason. I bet not too many days would pass before one of the artists got stoned and fell. Such is life. For now, enjoy the animated video below that shows what the stadium might look like. Or view this time lapse video of the stadium being built. Or, if you like a bit of conspiracy theory, there’s always this…

In Iran there are plenty of people who believe the same, and that Washington does as its London masters bid. Unbelievably, there is a movement within the US itself which seems to believe that the US never did actually gain its independence. In Mexico, I was often questioned about the differences between the British and their northern neighbours.

I wouldn’t imagine that anyone reading this would believe in any of the above theories or concepts. But there are big differences between the two countries. There’s a shared language, many shared beliefs, but two distinct cultures. There are, of course, many sub-cultures within each country. But I have an excellent example of what makes Britain different from the US.

The video below is of a photographer standing up for his rights outside of crisp factory. All the key ingredients are there. Petty incident? Check. Indignant stubborness? Check. Use of the word ‘bloody’? Check. When really heated, use of the word ‘wanker’? Check. Complete lack of real aggression throughout? Check. Generally polite exchange? Check. Nothing really happens before all parties go their separate ways? Check. It’s all very, very ‘unAmerican’…

Take Our Poll

I first heard the word Thatcher as a six year old in a school classroom. The teacher explained what a General Election was. She described the two candidates. I think she was probably pretty thin on policies. The key fact was that one of them was a woman, and that we’d never had a woman Prime Minister. I remember at the time wondering what exactly was the big deal of having a woman PM. We had a woman queen*, and a queen was far more important that a politician.

We were given the vote in that classroom. I voted for Callaghan, the incumbent Labour PM. He was clearly going to get a drubbing judging by the inability of my contemporaries to keep their voting intentions secret. I felt sorry for him. My sympathy vote counted for little. He was given the predictable drubbing. A few days later Thatcher was elected for real. A ‘frothing right winger’ who had been accidentally elevated to the position of Conservative leader due to a disorganised protest vote was Prime Minister, and the UK would never be quite the same again.

Thatcher was and is divisive. Love her or hate her. Although personally I neither love nor hate her. For me there are two Thatchers. The Iron Lady who ruled with an iron fist from 1979 to 1987. Crushing the militant and destructive unions that were crippling the country. The Iron Lady who stood up to terrorism at home and who faced down despotism in the south Atlantic. The Iron Lady who gave the people of the UK greater financial opportunities. She was also part and parcel of the political process that destroyed swathes of British industry, who plunged millions into unemployment and poverty and who set us on a course for levels of inequality not known since the worst excesses of the Victorian era.

Then there was the Thatcher of 1987 to 1990. A woman who had been ploughing forward at top speed for so long, it didn’t occur to her that she’d pretty much arrived at the land she’d promised. She didn’t know how to stop. She didn’t seem to understand the need to consolidate. She didn’t grasp the consequences of winning the Cold War, and Britain’s changing position within the world at large and Europe in particular. The didn’t seem to understand the changing dynamics of the world around her. But more than anything, she didn’t seem to grasp the fact that at home, with domestic policies, you can divide and conquer for only so long. A country with too many divisions is in trouble. Thatcher was in trouble. She’d be toppled by those around her. They could see the writing on the wall, even if she couldn’t.

The 1980′s were good for me. I was a kid. Boom and bust means little providing you still get your pocket money. I did my paper rounds and Saturday jobs and got by. By the time Thatcherism hit me, it was almost over. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the Community Charge, or the Poll Tax. In theory, a perfectly fair concept. In practise, it was implemented in the most ridiculous, unenforceable, unfair and laughable manner. I moved to the borough of Wandsworth for the two years I was elibible to pay up. The first year I had to pay £140. The second year it was zero. Elsewhere in the country people were having to pay hundreds upon hundreds of pounds. Thatcher would never repeal the Poll Tax. And the country would never vote for a party supporting it. It was either goodbye for Thatcher in 1990, or goodbye to the Tories in 1991. The Tory party, understandably, chose the former.

So I look forward to the film. But I do wonder one thing. When all is said and done and the tomes of history have spoken, how will Thatcher be recorded. My photo below isn’t the best I’ve ever taken of Big Ben and Westminster. But it’s always a very awe inspiring sight. It’s so representative of London, of the UK, of the might of the British Empire, of the glories of the Victorian era, the dominance of the UK in a world now long gone. I often stare at it and wonder how on earth this building once came to be the centre of the world. How a third of the world’s population had their fates, to greater or lesser extents, determined by people working in that building.

Britain lost it’s position at the top of the global tree a long time ago. Well….only within my grand fathers lifetime, so perhaps not so long ago. But the slide down the tree, gradual as it is, will continue. Brazil recently overtook the UK for 6th place in the list of the world’s largest economies. We’ll continue falling. We’ve been sliding since the end of World War Two. But for a fleeting moment, Thatcher stopped the decline. We actually climbed up a few rungs. We punched above our weight again, albeit temporarily. Britain seemed great again.

I don’t doubt that, for better or worse, Thatcher will be recorded as one of the great British prime ministers. But might she also be remembered as the last great British prime minister? Along with the likes of Pitt, Attlee, Asquith, Churchill, Lloyd George and MacMillan? Of course, there is one prime minister I haven’t mentioned, who might lay claim to being the last great British PM. Like Thatcher, Blair won three elections. But I would regard him as being an important PM, at a crossroads in British history, overseeing – nay, guiding - the country once again into decline.

It also seems only fair that I offer a public thanks and also a link to their website. Which, to be frank, isn’t the nicest site in the world to look at or to navigate. I do hope/wish they’d change that. The content is great, and content is king. I’d already been reading a lot of the author’s blogs for many years. The aesthetic qualities of the site are worth suffering in order to get to the articles and videos.

I have an update to post though. Paola recently went into the Covent Garden restaurant. It was worse that the Canary Wharf branch. Indeed, it was on a par with the competition. So completely s%#t. Except, Paola then went to one of the competitors. Lupita, near Charing Cross. How’s this for authenticity – Mexican staff. That was one of the obvious things missing from Wahaca that lead me to say that the place was devoid of the ‘Mexican experience’ there.

Paola liked the food, and she is fussy. It was pricey though. She brought me back a couple of tacos al pastor to sample. And yep, Lupita now ranks as my number one Mexican in London. I say this with great confidence, despite never having been there. Because those tacos were good. But again, one must bear in mind the standard of the competition. Completely s%#t.

One final word on Wahaca. We originally went there having seen a TV series starring Tomasina Miers (the founder of Wahaca) called Mexican Food Made Simple. She’s clearly passionate about cooking. She clearly knows about Mexican cooking. She’s a smart lady. She knows a taco from a turd alright.

So what went wrong? The same thing that has gone wrong with a big chunk of our economy if you ask me. Corporatism. Which is to capitalism what communism is to socialism. In my opinion. She’s sold out to corporatism.  They’ve put the cash into her business, and want the maximum return, quick. Which means you end up with a product that appeals to the lowest common denominator, set  at a high price that reflects how many people are pocketing the profits and not what the product really justifies.

It means you end up with bog standard National Minimum Wage-eque standards of service and the atmosphere of a factory. There’s no personal touch, not is there personality. That’s the exact opposite of how many restaurants work in Mexico. That’s the exact opposite of how many things work in Mexico. Tailoring, medical services, repair stores and many more. There’s more consistency in the corporate world. But little excellence.

Shame on you Tomasina. You could have made it big yourself. In a smaller way. In a more dignified way. Over a longer period of time. In a more soulful way. And Wahaca could have been great. But it’s not. Please don’t try and tell me otherwise. I had six years to learn tacos from turds, and you’ll not fool me. But I still like your TV shows and YouTube videos.

The atmosphere is building up already. It began in earnest with the New Years fireworks display in London, which I posted a couple of weeks back. I’d like to be your guide for the next eight months on an Olympic journey from a British point of view. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of bits and pieces worth sharing, and I’m equally sure that I’ll have a few comments to add. I’ve installed a countdown clock in the sidebar, and it’s ticking. Sort of. click on the icon above it, and all my Olympics posts will be displayed.

To get things going, here’s a short video by the Guardian newspaper, giving a few facts and figures about the Olympics. Enjoy.

True, my Olympus is an interchangeable lens system. But there are advantages to having a fixed lens, and I suspect there’s be a few add on type lenses available for the GX1 before too long. There’s only one thing wrong with the GX1 from what I can see. The price. Nearly $800?! I’ll have to dream on. shame. I’d love to give that beast a good work out around London after dark, to put those high ISO numbers to good use.

• Blogger has matured a lot since I left in 2009. A lot of good changes. But it still lacks the professional feel you get from WordPress.com. They have all the features and ease of use right. Why does it have to look so Orange and blocky though? It’s like EasyJet got into hosting. EasyJet is cheap and no frills. When the competition is also cheap but has the frills, you’re not offering a comparable product.
• I like that Blogger lets you do what you want. Running adverts? Fine. Want to install javascript? No problem. Want to totally customise the blog? Knock yourself out. If Blogger can do all that, why can’t WordPress?
• I am moving more and more into the Google-sphere. But virtually all of their products have elements that turn me off. And they are almost always basic, common sense elements. Like Google+ photos, which load all my albums – painfully slowly. Too much excess and fat going into all that coding. Google is becoming more like Microsoft everyday. Empire of bloatware. Which is ironic, because Microsoft is becoming more like Google (or what Google used to be) every day. Clean and lean.
• If I want to swap from WordPress.com to Blogger, I need to import my blog into Blogger. It can be done easily from Blogger into Google. Yet the only tool that exists to do it the other way round is WordPresstoBlogger. Which has been around for ages. And will only convert a 1mb blog. Unless you want to play with the self hosted version. Pft. You’d have thought that after all these years, Blogger would have created an import utility.
• WordPress.com is clever. They use a ton of shortcode to embed stuff. So if you do manage to export it somewhere else, massive chunks of your content is broken. Blogger needs to recognise WordPress shortcode. Else developing an import tool is a futile gesture.
• If WordPress just permitted ‘trusted’ bloggers to use javascript, and permitted advertising (and not their own nasty ads that currently get served up!) then Blogger would have little to offer in way of competition.
• I was Blogger’s ‘Blogger of Note‘ back in early 2009. Because they pointed to my domain, garydenness.co.uk – which I took to WordPress with me – I still get a lot of traffic from them. Which I think is quite funny. They’re be better off linking to the underlying blogspot address and avoid promoting the opposition.