Saturday, 28 February 2015
Friday, 30 January 2015
Sunday, 21 December 2014
Friday, 10 October 2014
SCALEYRADIO 33 It's here! The long awaited show with the Lloydmeister himself, dropping in, not for a bath, but to play some tunes for us. You will hear, Soundgarden, The Cure, John Mayall, Stanley Clarke, The Doors and lots more. Cassette Treasure Trove this show is courtesy of RUSTAN LEFIN in Sweden and even The Vinyl Vault features three from The Lloydmeister's playlist. What a audio avalanche!
Friday, 12 September 2014
Friday, 22 August 2014
MONDAY AUGUST 18th.....I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T A CLUE!
What a last day! It dawned on us yesterday that we would have a whole day to kill in Boston as our flight was late in the evening. We had an unplanned day in front of us, we would have to improvise. As it turned out it was a cracking day which started with a walk in the park following a hearty fast food breakfast at Au Pan Vit which had become our favourite eating place due to a multiple of facts. Firstly, as a self serve, no tipping was required. You simply dictated your order and it was produced, quickly. Merlin and I had been actually wondering how much of our money had departed as tips since we arrived. At least a couple of hundred dollars. So this joint was a Godsend, especially on the last day , when like the sands of time, dollars in the wallet were running out and needed serious eking. Secondly, they did a pretty good lobster salad, which Merlin treated himself to a couple of days ago, for breakfast. Now his opinion has to be listened to, for his is of the Normburger fame don't forget. And he was right, delicious. Thirdly, one can sit outside in the sun and watch the world go by.
But what to do with the rest of the day? We need not have worried. A fun filled one was about to unfold culminating in Merlin returning the favour of many years past. We wandered about for a while before stopping for another bite to eat and as it was past alcohol o'clock.......well it would be rude not to. It's worth reminding readers at this point, as it is crucial to today's tale, that Merlin does not drink. This is on the grounds that between birth and 57 years old, he drank a lifetime's worth and destiny chose for him, another route. We continued upon our ambling way and came upon a fire station. Outside, resplendent in shiny chrome and red, stood a Boston fire engine. Merlin was transfixed. Better was to come, for as he whipped out his camera, a firefighter approached. Merlin made some random excuse about his brother being in the Swedish Fire Service and wanted to show bruv the real thing. Without even asking him to sign a petition, Merlin was offers up to the cab. Unattended. What death they would have been dicing with in days gone by. He was like a small boy. I fully expected him to ask to sound the siren, which in the US is a truly deafening piece of kit, sounding more like an Atlantic liner's signal that it is intending to arrive in port.
After some time our stroll continued and I decided, using GPS to try a short cut between blocks, affording Merlin another photo opportunity, this time of a typical American movie type alley. His word not mine. Turning into the adjoining street we noticed a very old looking building on our right. This turned out to be The Boston Black American Museum, where a guided tour and talk was a mere five dollars. This, we mused, would eat up a few more minutes, but it was more than that, it was an hour or more and fascinating it was too. Boston, not only the place where they chucked our te in the harbour, but also where the sparks of the American Civil War were kindled. Any one who has seen 12 Years A Slave will know exactly what I mean. It was here that right minded 'liberals' decided that the colour of a person's skin should not dictate how they were treated in life. The abolition movement started here, and in this very building and chapel, where the first meetings took place. Brilliant!
Later at Boston International Airport, Trish and I decided to celebrate this great last day. Consequently, from that moment onwards, things went a bit pear shaped. Now, my wife hates waste and could not be convinced to part with the remnants of our duty free, now ten days old and mostly consumed. But not all. Not by a long way it turned out. For when the call to Gate came another gait was decidedly unsteady. These days, airlines are a bit fussy about who they let on 'planes and those that can't walk in a straight line are somewhere on their list. Knowing this Merlin went into action. Ironic this. I remember many a similar experience, merely trying to gain entry, with him in tow, to various clubs and bars in Gothenburg. We sandwiched Trish between us and marched the three of us forward. Confidently we negotiated passport and boarding card control. Security was another matter. They pulled her over for a bag and body search. A feeling of foreboding passed through us. I need not have worried. She pulled herself together and up straight and met the challenge. I was proud of her. We were through.
This effort seemed to have taken its toll as we had to repeat the sandwich manoeuvre to get her through the gate to the aircraft where, after a prolonged visit to the ladies, she slept the whole way home. Lucky her.
What a trip this has been. New York was a truly memorable experience. I can honestly say I have never been to a place like it. Non stop noise, traffic, skyscrapers adding to a keen sense of claustrophobia, people, everywhere, teeming from the pores of the buildings themselves, rich, poor, black, white and every shade between, yellow cabs, fast food, dollars and few cents, the almost perfect silence of Central Park and the 35th floor of our hotel, Brooklyn Bridge, the fetid heat of the subway, Ground Zero, taking your breath away, where few people talk but all look up, Times Square, daylight at night, fire escapes clinging rusty to the outside of buildings, the avenues going on for miles and the streets intersecting them, the queue at night for The Doctor Who Convention, the Broadway lights, catering stores in Greenwich Village selling anything you could wish for and more besides, where Trish could not believe her eyes, ancient hand powered mincing machines and grinders stacked floor to ceiling, The Dakota Building with its security guards and shutters snapping, Strawberry Fields and a Liverpool scarf, you'll never walk alone John, Penn Station, Madison Square Gardens, The Staten Island Ferry, Statue Of Liberty, it's copper you know, that's why it's green, Stars and Stripes and the names of the innocent etched forever on the memorial, bordering the footmark of The South Tower. Truly moving. And all in two days. Unforgettable, whichever way you look at it. I'll be back.
But what to do with the rest of the day? We need not have worried. A fun filled one was about to unfold culminating in Merlin returning the favour of many years past. We wandered about for a while before stopping for another bite to eat and as it was past alcohol o'clock.......well it would be rude not to. It's worth reminding readers at this point, as it is crucial to today's tale, that Merlin does not drink. This is on the grounds that between birth and 57 years old, he drank a lifetime's worth and destiny chose for him, another route. We continued upon our ambling way and came upon a fire station. Outside, resplendent in shiny chrome and red, stood a Boston fire engine. Merlin was transfixed. Better was to come, for as he whipped out his camera, a firefighter approached. Merlin made some random excuse about his brother being in the Swedish Fire Service and wanted to show bruv the real thing. Without even asking him to sign a petition, Merlin was offers up to the cab. Unattended. What death they would have been dicing with in days gone by. He was like a small boy. I fully expected him to ask to sound the siren, which in the US is a truly deafening piece of kit, sounding more like an Atlantic liner's signal that it is intending to arrive in port.
After some time our stroll continued and I decided, using GPS to try a short cut between blocks, affording Merlin another photo opportunity, this time of a typical American movie type alley. His word not mine. Turning into the adjoining street we noticed a very old looking building on our right. This turned out to be The Boston Black American Museum, where a guided tour and talk was a mere five dollars. This, we mused, would eat up a few more minutes, but it was more than that, it was an hour or more and fascinating it was too. Boston, not only the place where they chucked our te in the harbour, but also where the sparks of the American Civil War were kindled. Any one who has seen 12 Years A Slave will know exactly what I mean. It was here that right minded 'liberals' decided that the colour of a person's skin should not dictate how they were treated in life. The abolition movement started here, and in this very building and chapel, where the first meetings took place. Brilliant!
Later at Boston International Airport, Trish and I decided to celebrate this great last day. Consequently, from that moment onwards, things went a bit pear shaped. Now, my wife hates waste and could not be convinced to part with the remnants of our duty free, now ten days old and mostly consumed. But not all. Not by a long way it turned out. For when the call to Gate came another gait was decidedly unsteady. These days, airlines are a bit fussy about who they let on 'planes and those that can't walk in a straight line are somewhere on their list. Knowing this Merlin went into action. Ironic this. I remember many a similar experience, merely trying to gain entry, with him in tow, to various clubs and bars in Gothenburg. We sandwiched Trish between us and marched the three of us forward. Confidently we negotiated passport and boarding card control. Security was another matter. They pulled her over for a bag and body search. A feeling of foreboding passed through us. I need not have worried. She pulled herself together and up straight and met the challenge. I was proud of her. We were through.
This effort seemed to have taken its toll as we had to repeat the sandwich manoeuvre to get her through the gate to the aircraft where, after a prolonged visit to the ladies, she slept the whole way home. Lucky her.
What a trip this has been. New York was a truly memorable experience. I can honestly say I have never been to a place like it. Non stop noise, traffic, skyscrapers adding to a keen sense of claustrophobia, people, everywhere, teeming from the pores of the buildings themselves, rich, poor, black, white and every shade between, yellow cabs, fast food, dollars and few cents, the almost perfect silence of Central Park and the 35th floor of our hotel, Brooklyn Bridge, the fetid heat of the subway, Ground Zero, taking your breath away, where few people talk but all look up, Times Square, daylight at night, fire escapes clinging rusty to the outside of buildings, the avenues going on for miles and the streets intersecting them, the queue at night for The Doctor Who Convention, the Broadway lights, catering stores in Greenwich Village selling anything you could wish for and more besides, where Trish could not believe her eyes, ancient hand powered mincing machines and grinders stacked floor to ceiling, The Dakota Building with its security guards and shutters snapping, Strawberry Fields and a Liverpool scarf, you'll never walk alone John, Penn Station, Madison Square Gardens, The Staten Island Ferry, Statue Of Liberty, it's copper you know, that's why it's green, Stars and Stripes and the names of the innocent etched forever on the memorial, bordering the footmark of The South Tower. Truly moving. And all in two days. Unforgettable, whichever way you look at it. I'll be back.
Tuesday, 19 August 2014
SUNDAY AUGUST 17th BOSTON.........BLANKETY BLANK!
The day of the Ball Game as they say here in the US. Merlin had been looking forward to this and I didn't want to dash his hopes but I have already experienced baseball in Cleveland on a previous visit and I know that it's less than exciting. We have to pause here and return to my new friend Rich from Boston, who I met in Washington. Now Rich didn't seem like the sports type of guy, more the sort that enjoyed the corporate entertainment that went with it, but nevertheless a fun and interesting character. He had experienced cricket in England and his opinion was that during the game, in Gloucestershire somewhere, he would have been grateful for a bullet through the head during the proceedings. I didn't seek his opinion about the game of baseball as I didn't need to, having been there myself in a previous life. And I kind of knew what he would say. But Merlin was determined and I didn't want to disappoint him. But Rich would have been looking for a revolver.
With Trish all Cheered out, I ordered tickets, the cheapest I could find, for The Game. Now for those of you who have never experienced baseball, here is a brief synopsis. The idea is to get as many runs as you can in nine inning. A run is a fat unfit geezer running through last base. Hey, does this not sound like rounders? Yes it does! And that's what it is, except it's more complicated at The Plate. It seems, that a hitter has three strikes before he is struck out for not hitting the ball. However, there are a number of foul throws allowed before a batter can Walk. Problem is here is that the bleacher crowd, us, sitting high in The Gods on a cheap ticket, have no idea what is a good ball or bad until it flashes up on the giant scoreboard. Even when watching it on TV, you don't really have much of a discriminatory idea about the various pitches. I assumed that during our game, from the number of balls, rather that strikes that were delivered, that Kelly, the Red Sox Pitcher, was in need of an urgent visit to Specsavers. But you could not be sure. Some balls, looking perfectly good to me were called bad whilst balls exactly the same were called good. The long and the short of this is that each inning, takes a long time to complete and is completely mystifying. Cricket is streamlined by comparison.
So there we sat, in the bleachers, the cheap seats, high up, uncovered, at the mercy of the midday and afternoon sun. And it was hot. Sporadically, a blue fug would make its way across the ground and the smell was exactly like your neighbour's shite attempt at a barbecue. It hung there like the smog in downtown LA of the seventies.
At first Merlin was well into the proceedings, but he made the Big Mistake of waiting for something to happen. Which it never really did. The game preceded along its sedentary path, and the crowd, made up of families enjoying a day out, were more concerned with their next soda or piece of pizza than the unfolding game. A Mexican wave was attempted, the highlight of the afternoon it could be said, but wasn't maintained. Some sporadic chanting occurred but wasn't of Wembley proportions. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Merlin beginning to wilt. He began mopping his brow, trying not only to make sense of the Ball Game, but also keep cool up there under the sun.
A pathetic third inning saw Red Sox go 5-0 down. Then there was a controversial play in the fourth which again was not communicated to the crowd or explained via the scoreboard. We had to wait until we got home and watch the highlights to find out what had happened. By this time Merlin was resembling an ice lolly too long out of the freezer in the midday sun. I made a mental to take him to a 20/20 game next summer to prove once and for all the superiority of cricket over the sedentary baseball. It's true folks. The taxi driver that took us to the ground was right. When I informed him that Trish wasn't going to The Game and needed dropping off at the hotel, he responded with 'lucky her'. I should have known. Hang on, I did know, what a friend I am! Or an idiot. At least Merlin leaned a new colloquialism, it has to do with paint and drying. Ask him.
With Trish all Cheered out, I ordered tickets, the cheapest I could find, for The Game. Now for those of you who have never experienced baseball, here is a brief synopsis. The idea is to get as many runs as you can in nine inning. A run is a fat unfit geezer running through last base. Hey, does this not sound like rounders? Yes it does! And that's what it is, except it's more complicated at The Plate. It seems, that a hitter has three strikes before he is struck out for not hitting the ball. However, there are a number of foul throws allowed before a batter can Walk. Problem is here is that the bleacher crowd, us, sitting high in The Gods on a cheap ticket, have no idea what is a good ball or bad until it flashes up on the giant scoreboard. Even when watching it on TV, you don't really have much of a discriminatory idea about the various pitches. I assumed that during our game, from the number of balls, rather that strikes that were delivered, that Kelly, the Red Sox Pitcher, was in need of an urgent visit to Specsavers. But you could not be sure. Some balls, looking perfectly good to me were called bad whilst balls exactly the same were called good. The long and the short of this is that each inning, takes a long time to complete and is completely mystifying. Cricket is streamlined by comparison.
So there we sat, in the bleachers, the cheap seats, high up, uncovered, at the mercy of the midday and afternoon sun. And it was hot. Sporadically, a blue fug would make its way across the ground and the smell was exactly like your neighbour's shite attempt at a barbecue. It hung there like the smog in downtown LA of the seventies.
At first Merlin was well into the proceedings, but he made the Big Mistake of waiting for something to happen. Which it never really did. The game preceded along its sedentary path, and the crowd, made up of families enjoying a day out, were more concerned with their next soda or piece of pizza than the unfolding game. A Mexican wave was attempted, the highlight of the afternoon it could be said, but wasn't maintained. Some sporadic chanting occurred but wasn't of Wembley proportions. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Merlin beginning to wilt. He began mopping his brow, trying not only to make sense of the Ball Game, but also keep cool up there under the sun.
A pathetic third inning saw Red Sox go 5-0 down. Then there was a controversial play in the fourth which again was not communicated to the crowd or explained via the scoreboard. We had to wait until we got home and watch the highlights to find out what had happened. By this time Merlin was resembling an ice lolly too long out of the freezer in the midday sun. I made a mental to take him to a 20/20 game next summer to prove once and for all the superiority of cricket over the sedentary baseball. It's true folks. The taxi driver that took us to the ground was right. When I informed him that Trish wasn't going to The Game and needed dropping off at the hotel, he responded with 'lucky her'. I should have known. Hang on, I did know, what a friend I am! Or an idiot. At least Merlin leaned a new colloquialism, it has to do with paint and drying. Ask him.
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