SCCU 100 G100/60 - Round and Round we go

Back at the start of the season I had some fine ambitions of doing a 4.30 in the SCCU 100. Reality had dawned in the recent ESCA 50 when  I came in with the 2.15, maybe 4.30 wasn't going to happen, but I nursed dreams of something around the 4.40 mark. Then I saw the course. Hmmm.

This one kicks off as did the SCCU 50 with a run out to Bolney, a trip to Henfield and then onto the A24. I had an early start 6.16 and that meant the traffic hadn't built to much by that stage. It the heads down to Washington, before turning back on a lumpy twisty bit of road through Partridge Green and back onto the A24. We had 41/2 laps like that to do. While I had been on reasonable schedule up to the start of the first lap  I was losing a couple of minutes each time I went through. I kept a consistent pace, and was doing a reasonable job of maintaining the heart rate and decent position on the big.  I just didn't have the power. I held my own on the A24 but found strong guys spinning past of the return.

Other G100 courses use this for a couple of laps, and I have never found it easy, but with the loss of the course after Southwater this was pretty much the only option. Finished with a 4.50.22 that was some way from where I wanted to be, but as they say its the race of truth. Only one other Port entered today, John Mulvaney and faired much better with a 4.42. That said for those who can it isn't that tough a course. The winner Steve Kane of Brighton Excelsior romped home with a 3.54, which is frankly incredible.

Big thanks to Jacqui Champion who was there to encourage and hand me a bottle, and another big thanks to Sam Ramsey of Lewes Wanderers. Sam had been clever enough to park his car near the finish, and generous enough to offer me a lift back to the HQ, sparing me an extra 4 miles I didn't need. Anyway, glad its done, and kind of accepting that this is a season of rebuilding after two fallow years.

Sham 69 Punk (disappointingly not) Footnotes # ??

A couple of days ago browsing facebook I came across a link from the Dead Kennedys page to an article where the write reflected on the most disappointing punk albums ever. This was as balance to praise for the first Ramones Album.

Clearly to be disappointing the band in question must have achieved a level of success and had a reputation. However lacklustre I may have found Peter and the Test Tube Babies, I don't even think they would list 'Pissed and Proud' amongst the greatest. The author of the article picked on Rancid (Clash lite and hype), My Chemical Romance (Emo isn't punk) and the Misfits (just not that good). All fine choices in my view but I think fall short of my selection.

With a nice 35 year gap, the greatest gulf between reputation and the actual quality of the output has to fall to Sham 69 for the 'That's Life' album. Actually I could have picked on any of their albums but That's Life just got unlucky. Some bands have enjoyed positive critical reappraisal  over the years (X-Ray Spex for example) Sham's havn't. However they were massively popular at the time and had a devoted army of skinhead fans (which has a lot to do with their rather ambiguous legacy).

However that they racked up a string of chart hits and was generally taken seriously does seem remarkable when one listens to this record. Firstly its a concept album, about some numpty bloke's day. To link the songs into sub quadrophonia story between tracks you have little bits of dialogue. I found this toe curling when I first heard the album and it has curdled with time. One thing to note is how cinematic Sham's influences were. Films like A Clockwork Orange, and Scum, along with kitchen sink dramas and Spaghetti Westerns seem to feature large.

The album contains Sham 69's best song, the cheery and very silly Hurry up Harry. Its a cracking tune and the lyric is light and fun. These are qualities largely absent on the rest of the album. Jimmy Pursey's approach to lyrics seemed to be come up with a half decent opening couple of lines, or a chorus and then any old drivel will do. Frequently this drivel is delivered as mighty social commentary, that then collapses under the slightest scrutiny. exhibit A

Running for the bus in my flash blue suit
someone shouts out poof so  I put in the boot
I don't want to wear it, its my boss that tells me too
So when you laugh at me, you only laugh at you

Er no Jimmy we are laughing at you.

Again maybe the world was different back then but their depiction of working class life seems to skate pretty close to Chas n Dave (actually I feel a thesis on the influence of Mrs Mills on hardcore punk in the late 1970's coming on). Such classics as 'Everybody's Right, Everybody's Wrong' and 'Win or Lose' or 'Is this me or Is this you' (can you see a theme here) bring little inspiration to the world. The song 'Evil Way' may have sounded like laddish knock about fun in 1979, now sounds like a battle cry for date rape.

Sham69 did have huge influence. The whole Oi/Street Punk style has its roots in Sham 69, not just on this side of the Atlantic. On the sleeve liner of Flex Your Head, members of the nascent Minor Threat wear Sham t shirts. When Sham's thick chords and terrace chant choruses are twinned with Wire's velocity and brevity one has reached hardcore. But Sham's great tunes are thinly spread, and  what sits between quickly becomes tiresome.  Its not rubbish, there's the aforementioned Hurry Up Harry and a few good lines here and there. But it just isn't that good, and worst of all, actually quite boring.

Fake Sheik, Rattle and Heads that Roll

Whatever actually went on between Tulisa and the Fake Sheik what puzzles me is why it was seen by the CPS as the kind of case worthy of taking to court. I may have lost my moral compass but attempting to supply £860 worth of coke doesn't  seem to me to place Tulisa in the Napoleon of Crime category. We live in a world where the middle aged daughter of a former Chancellor uses a little charlie. Whatever his motivations, the scale of Mazher Mahmood's investigation went way beyond anything the alleged offence justified.

From my perspective it would have seemed the kind of offence that would be handled with a caution if anything.  So  I took a look at the CPS site to see what kind of sentence Tulisa could have expected. I was surprised by weight of the sanctions. Some years ago I came across a woman who had been stabbed by her partner and the Police would not take the case forward because she was not willing to testify against him. He was a thoroughly violent and nasty man who soon after stabbed a friend, and had an appalling history of violence and antisocial behaviour. In the context of this the sentences around drugs seemed heavy. However but to Tulisa's supply case.

Against her is that Coke is a class A drug so it all gets very punitive. However there are significant mitigations. He role as a supplier seems to fall into the 'lesser' category. She seemed to be involved through naivety, her influence of the supply chain small and could be said to have been pressured into doing it. Then is the quantity, I am not expert but my assumption is that £860 would place it in the lowest category in term of volume. In addition the purpose of the supply is also relevant. She was not dishing it out in school playgrounds. Instead she obtained a small quantity for what she would have believed was a business associate (maybe even friend) to use on a lads weekend. On this basis if convicted Tulisa, who doesn't have a long history of drug dealing, and who from the evidence was having massive carrots dangled before her, it is likely that it would have ended in a community sentence.

On that basis I do wonder whether some of the CPS motivation of pressing ahead with this case (where they would have been aware of all the entrapment challenges etc) was not in some way driven by the celebrity not of Tulisa but of Mahmood, the fake sheik. To have left the case on file, or issue a caution would have not satisfied. Given the high profile of the investigator and the huge operation he had undertaken was this a pressure to go ahead with a case that seems to lack value. Interesting to the public yes, in the public interest, dubious.

There are cases where Mahmood's tactics have been of value in capturing genuine gangsters. If that is where he focussed his talents few would have anything but admiration for him and the papers that employed him. The choice (especially in the post Leveson world) to use this weapon to embarrass and humiliate mid range celebs for minor wrong doing seems foolish, both on the part of the paper and Mahmood.

Sleaford Mods - The Angry Young Man becomes an angry old man

There was a time in my teens when I was seeing bands just as they were becoming the next big thing. Pride of place goes to seeing The Smiths play to a couple of hundred people at North East London Poly. Now, I hear about bands two years after they have appeared through interviews in The Guardian. Such is life.

It was though this route that I came across Sleaford Mods, a thoroughly awkward pair dishing out angry rants about austerity Britain. Their breakthrough track (if it can be called that) is a first person tsunami of bitterness called Job Seeker. Chin jutting, hollow braggadocio of a man losing the plot in a job centre, his self hatred and rage against the world competing in a foul mouthed tirade. One can hear The Fall, The Streets and Plan B in there, but somehow different. Less abstract than The Fall, grimmer than The Streets yes. But while Plan B may have occupied similar lyrical territory Sleaford Mods are not ranting for the 16 year old on the fringes of gang culture. They are about the broken man in his 30's 40's men (and it is very male) who have tried and failed. Their failure is their own.

Reading that both members were in their 40's made sense and also struck me as interesting. They are not grown ups pretending to be down with the kids, they are writing angry music about who they are. They are not social commentators from the outside, they place themselves, like Morrissey and Lou Reed did at their best on the inside of the world they want to depict. When I was in my teens the idea that a band with members in their 40's could be writing angry music about their lives, and it to have any resonance would have seemed ridiculous. But it is still us baby boomers driving the music industry. Our tastes dominate. I would rather two guys in there 40's had a crack at saying something about the world than the legions of young bands who seem to make old music.

Whether the Sleaford Mods have any longevity will depend on two things. Firstly can they still say vital interesting things now that they are critically lorded musicians rather than frustrated wannabes. And secondly can they evolve their musical template. Plan B found huge commercial success breaking out of the Grime Ghetto. He could do this partly because he was armed with remarkable singing voice, and clearly vast ambition. Whether Williamson of SM's can do the same is to be seen. But even if they don't they have made an indecent mark.

Tree House Croydon -

Last night fancied a bit of a treat dinner, especially one we didn't have to cook. Over the years we have given a fair pounding to the restaurants in Croydon and sometimes it does feel a little over familiar. Anyway, there was a food festival going on down in South Croydon and warmed up by a nice pint of London Pride in the Spread Eagle we headed down before the quiz night started.

The Tree House is a pretty well established pub restaurant, only those of my generation and older will remember it as the Blue Anchor. We have had some really nice meals their in the past, I have particularly fond memories of a smoked haddock with poached egg and mash. A short menu of well prepared unfussy dishes is one of their strengths.  Last night wasn't its best though, and I am afraid that maybe it is on a bit of a downward slope. On a warm Sunday evening following a food festival we were surprised to see it was largely empty when both Brasserie Vacherin and Bugatti's were busy. The waitress was cheery and the menu looked good.

We ordered a bruschetta and a Carpaccio of beef starters. They were fine, but to be honest very very small. A cheery pile of leaves on my plate could not disguise the fact there was barely a mouthful of meat, and the Bruschetta was about the size of  half an English muffin. We were now damn glad we had ordered some sides with our main. And were even more glad as there now seemed to be a long wait for the mains to appear. This was curious as they were not exactly busy. The grilled salmon and the veggie Wellington were lovely when they arrived but it was a very long time.

We wanted to round the meal off with cheese, and the waitress assured us that one would be enough for two. I was sceptical but deferred to her judgement. I never got to find out as she returned to advise that 'the chef has told me we have no more cheese board.' By now the magic was lost and took the bill and headed home.

Its a shame the overall was just a bit slack when the food tasted good and the service was friendly.

Brighton Excelsior 10 and 25 - Testing Weekend

While my club mates sought fast times on fast courses I stuck with the G courses this weekend. To be honest it would have probably been quicker getting over to Bentley for the H25/8 than getting down to Steyning. I have heard Brighton described as London on Sea, and to be honest in the world of Time Trialling it comes pretty damn close to being true. Both the G10/97 and G25/93 turn just outside Shoreham but come under 'London South.' Anyway my original motivation was to support the 10 on Saturday because it was being run by an old friend, James Stone. Having entered the 10 it felt rude not to do the 25 as well.

Neither course has a reputation for being fast. The 10 has a sub 20 minute record so is actually pretty quick, starting outside Steyning on the A283 over a couple of roundabouts to Shoreham and back. It has a nifty little gift start, though as the rain was tipping down I didn't make the best use of it I could have. Came away happy enough with my 24.40. The real feature of this event was that it included a competition for Juniors where some serious upcoming talent. 16 year old Zac Coran-Haines won the Junior Competition with a 22, Amy Smith another 16 year old one the girls version with a 24.

I think Conall Yates took the overall with a 20.35 but is was pretty close.

Back on Sunday for the G25/93 and to be honest was feeling a little jaded. This kicks off with a loop through Partridge Green onto the A24, a left hander at the Washington Roundabout (the graveyard of may TT dreams) out to Shoreham and back. The opening is on a lumpy twisty road with a iffy surface and I found myself labouring through the first 10 miles in around 27 minutes. By the time I was through the Washington Roundabout and at 15 miles 40mins had passed. In the end in dry conditions  I kicked myself up the backside and did the final 10 miles quicker than I had gone on Saturday to come away with an only slightly underwhelming 1.04.17

With the OPCC track day looming I had to scuttle away before the final results were in but full marks to BECC for running a couple of great events with a decent buffet of cake and rolls at the hall.

Old Portlians CC - Club Track Championships

Back at the AGM, long stand member Clive Jeffery put his hand in the air and offered to run a club track championship at Herne Hill. Given that putting ones hand in the air and offering to do things is not what the club is known for this was something special in itself. The normal method for apportioning tasks is a combination of chicken and you touched it last. The track champs used to be a fixture of the Old Ports calendar but had slipped away in recent years, so we were all delighted that Clive was up for breathing life back into the beast again.

The championship revolved around four events. A 200m sprint (basically eyeballs out giving it everything from a flying start. A four lap pursuit with riders starting on opposing sides of the track. Probably the cruellest event is the Devil Takes the Hindmost , where last rider on each lap is eliminated. To close the day was the points race, points being awarded for the first 3 places on each lap.

To be honest there at not that many experienced track riders at the club. More than once Clive rolled his eyes as his charges failed to follow his instructions. A number  of people were referencing doing it at school, and for most of us, school was a very long time ago. Michael Fowler was probably the most candid with his comment. 'I did it at school, I wasn't very good then, I am not very good now. But people pretty quickly got that hang of things, and once the riders stopped gasping for air, there were plenty of broad smiles. Sally Avery could barely contain her delight at the end of her sprint. Having knackered myself doing at 25 at Steyning this morning I sat out of the racing opting to take pictures and offer largely unhelpful advice.

The podium was, 3rd Place Dave Warne ( a bit tuckered from his 56 on the F1 this morning, I note he did not use a time trial as an excuse not to race this pm, hmmm), 2nd Steve Avery (looks strong) and 1st place went to Iain Hawthorn. Well deserved. Has been putting lots of time crit racing this season and the craft transferred well, especially as the bunch fragmented at the end of the points race.

Fantastic event for the club. Congratulations to Iain and the other guys on the podium. And a huge thank you to Clive and Ian Jeffery for doing the hard work and making the thing happen.  

ESCA 50 Wet Wet Wet

50's are an odd distance for me. When I am strong and on top of my game it is probably my favourite distance. But when I am not on the button they stink. Three Old Ports were scattered across the start sheet of this, Bash and Dave Warne off at vaguely sensible time, me of No.1 at 6.31 am. Given that it is a fair schlepp from Croydon this meant that the alarm brought me unwillingly to life at 4 a.m. If I was nursing any hopes for a float morning the sound of rain told me it was more likely to be of the life raft kind.

Basically the course runs up and down the A22 out of East Hoathly via lots of roundabouts. The road surface used to be rubbish but to be fair its not as bumpy as it once was. Never the less events on this stretch  are never ones to give you a flattering moral boostingly fast time. More drag than drag strip. That said they have the advantage of not being closed due to road works which gives them one massive advantage over the Horsham Courses.

The rain seemed to be holding off as I got ready, so much so that  decided not to bother with the waterproof overshoes I have brought specially. Poor fool that  I was. By the time I arrived at the start line flustered and 15 seconds late it was tipping it down, and within a the first 100 yards my feet were soaked and soon the rest of me was. Traffic was still light, which was a relief as visibility was dire. I was struggling to really give it full gas, and it wasn't until the first 25 came up and the rain stopped that I gave myself a talking to and got going. Ended up with a 2.15.19 which is probably 5 mins short of where  I wanted to be, but a couple of mins quicker than my last 50 on a lousy morning. So another event under my belt on what is proving a long haul back. On the upside, again I had no problem going the distance just short on the watts.

Got back to the hall to see Dave's van had gone so presumed he had ditched it, and a message from Bash saying he had done something similar. Glad I pushed through and did it, but it was a day to chalk up to experience. I did not stay to see who won, the one benefit if a foolishly early start is an early return home. But the MTFU aware for today goes to no.3, Matthew Blagg of Maidenhead and District CC. It was his first ever 50, and he started in the same monsoon as I did. But managed to go seriously off course. Not the quick wrong turn and realise, no a proper thrust into the unknown. He finally found his way back but had lost barrowloads of time. Now given that the course runs near the HQ several times, the weather is crap and his time will now be dreadful nobody would really have blamed Matthew for knocking it on the head. But no, he was made of sterner stuff and kept going and finished the event. I did console him that he now had a time for a 50 to beat. I am not sure he found that thought entirely encouraging at that moment.

Anyway - onto more fun and games in Sussex for me next weekend with various Brighton Excelsior instruments of torture.  

Argentina and South London's greatest goalkeeper

It is kind of fitting that with Argentina about to play in the World Cup final that Julian Speroni is celebrating 10 years as Palace's goalkeeper. Actually that is not quite accurate. It is 10 years since Speroni signed for Crystal Palace, a career book ended by very different experiences in the top flight.

In 2003/4 Palace under Dowie had been promoted via the playoffs. For reasons that now escape me Palace were without a first choice keeper and used a number of loan signings, with Nico Vassen doing the job in the play off final. Vassen had made enough of an impression on the supporters to even have his own song. Not complex it was his name sung to the tune of 'Lip up Fatty.' Agsin for  reasons that escape me Vassen didn't want to stick around and we signed the Argentinian from Dundee who wore a pony tail a la David Seaman. 

Speroni's start was pretty shocking where behind a newly promoted defence he made a series of blunders, most famously at home to an Everton side who were themselves struggling up to that point. For a keeper Speroni is small, and in a league where commanding you box matters lots he seemed a bit lightweight.Dowie lost confidence in him and the big charismatic and decidedly odd Gabor Kiraly was brought in. At this point JS disappears from view. I guess I expected him to slip away like so many of the other unimpressive post promotion signings. For two seasons after he hung around playing second fiddle to the increasingly annoying Kiraly and then Scott Flinders. 2007/8 everything changes. Starting the season as no 12 he makes 40odd first team appearances of growing assurance to go with the undoubted reflexes to become player of the year. When Palace went into one of their periods of administration he stayed loyal to further enhance his status as not only a great keeper but good human being. The ultimate reward, a return to the Premiership could have been a double edged sword. Like much of the team he struggled early on, and even when the saviour Pulis arrived the vultures were circling. A contract running out and the Christmas signing of Wayne Hennessey suggested that the future would not be his. But this time he didn't choke on the big stage, instead turned in some of his finest performance to keep Palace in games, and keep Hennessey on the bench. 

He has earned a new contract though in my heart of hearts it won't take much for Pulis to ease him to one side. It has been a wonderful but strange path he has trodden at Selhurst. How many 'big foreign signings' languish in thr reserves foe three years only to emerge to become an ever present talisman for the team for the next seven.

5 Iconic Climbs - Curmudgeonly Grumbling

Cyclosport have put out a perfectly cheery article about the Top 5 Iconic European Climbs. There are some nifty facts and cool photos and the whole thing is just fine. But I felt irritated by it, and had to spend a couple of moments thinking why. The selection is to behonest fair enough given that they are 'iconic, not 'greatest'. Alp d'Huez, check, Tourmalet, check, Ventoux, check. Whst about the a Giro? Oh go on Stelvio, check. A small voice for the corner of the room, 'What about the Vuelta?' Eyes roll, go on then stick in L'Angrilu to keep them quiet. My gripe is that like coming up with a list of 'most influential rock groups of all time' however you game it they always come up with the same answers. Normally these answers are based on a narrow time frame, and become true by repetition. Who is the greatest Opera singer? Maria Callas. Why? Because everyone says so.

The inclusion of Tourmalet and Ventoux are justifiable by their place in Tour history, and Alp d'Huez by its sheer ubiquitousness. Side note, leave the history to one side Alp d'Huez is not in the same league as Ventoux or Tourmalet. But why trot out the same old names again.  It is like having a literary blog telling us that Shakespeare was a great playwrite. Why not a list that can embrace climbs where the iconography comes from the era of the black and white photo? How about the Col'd Izoard there Coppi and Bartalli shared a brief truce and a bottle of water, or Puy de Dome where Anquetil and Poulidour fought, (almost literally) shoulder to shoulder. This Could throw up some unexpected new ideas for us amateurs, rather than another run through the already familiar.

World Cup of Equals

Germany and Argentina are familiar names in World Cup finals and the teams they beat in the semis are a huge part of the past. But this World Cup felt more equal. Plenty of heavy hitters fell hard, even those final two had difficult with the so called minnows. It us a globalised game, and it is my guess that this having both centralised club football has democratised the national game. World wide scouting brings the cream to Europe from a cross the globe to be trained and groomed with the best their is. Their clubs dominate the world. But then the winds of nationhood scatter then back across the world. There are no far off talents of which we know little or nieve triers now. Everyone knows the game.
But the works to harm those mighty nations whose club sides bestride the globe. Italy, England and Spain. All gone in the first round. Maybe the secret of international success is to have a weak home league and let your best players fly away to make there living the hard way in foreign countries that care little for them beyond their talent.

Froome and Team Sky's plan B

Having been rather scornful of the value of a plan B Team Sky, like Omega Pharma Quickstep are faced with coming up with one inside the first week. Both Teams left out supposedly superfluous heavy hitters. How much would Omega have loved to have Boonan on the start line today now that Cav is gone? But Sky's omission of Wiggins will capture the headlines, in Britain at least, now that Froome has gone. On the steps of the Team bus  Brailsford looked less than convinced talking up Porte as a realistic substitute team leader. With a following wind he is a fine rider but its hard to imagine that tonight Nibali and Contador are not quietly relieved.

However, given his clear form just how bad must Wiggins be as a team mate that it was safest to leave him out, especially given that he does have recent form on the cobbles. Its debate, that some if not all, will come out diminished. Either Brailsford has made a huge error of judgment, or there was something so toxic in Froome, Wiggins or both that made having them together impossible. 

Here is my guess. Froome is a self made man who resented playing second fiddle to Wiggo, who I suspect he does not really respect. Wiggo, a product of BC, happiest with the individual effort of the TT and pursuit, a man who appears emotionally vulnerable, needs a lot of support around him. My guess is that he has also cheesed off some of the more senior members of the squad, such as Thomas.  However he is more charismatic and popular with the public. Brailsford would have convinced himself that a team needs to be more than the sum of its parts, that a whole sans Wiggo was a better bet. He was wrong. Froome has been vulnerable to crashes in the Tour run in and has had his own health problems. With a stage on the Roubaix cobbles so early it was a huge gamble he did not have to make. Sky have made wrong moves before, but this is far more profound. It brings into question their fundamental strategy and people management. 

What it does mean is that the riders that remain should be liberated to do some harm on individual stages. The team slogging away to put Porte on the podium (a long shot) feels a drab choice, riding in the wheels of Bert and Nibbles. 

BRAGER - the sacking of football's utopia

One could sense shock and awe last night, not just on the faces of the Brazillian's but in the voices of the MoTD team. Hansen in particular seemed inconsolable, wallowing in the short coming of the host nation with a level of feeling he can't muster when Scotland once again fail to qualify. Resentful of Shearer's efforts to talk about how good Germany were, he was even more fixated than usual on what went wrong for the losers.

Last night football's utopia burned, a fantasy land where all that is good in the game still thrives was demolished. It is a place where the beautiful game is played, in the sunshine, watched by beautiful women in a simpler land. This is a wonderful contrast to our blunt soggy nations long balls and hooligans. While Brazil were winning world cups in the 50's and 60's I guess it must have been 1970 when they blazed into the a British psychie. Technicolor football in the first colour TV World Cup. Since then pundits have placed Brazil in a different place to all other teams. Despite their own World Cup pedigrees Italy and Germany come nowhere close. Last night Germany showed the world that Brazil were just another football team, a mediocre side save for the absent genius of Neymar. And that is what was so hard to swallow, that no Santa Claus moment for those grown up kids that still wanted to believe. Like the smell of tear gas told us that the Brazillian's are more complex than the depictions of a childlike nation suggest, this football collapse reminds us that know team has footballs holy grail forever.

But to be honest much of the worshipping of Brazil doesn't stand up to close examination. There have been brilliant Brazil Teams since1970 and some that were just very  good. While in tht Pele era their stars were rarely seen by European players or supporters, now they are just a part of the global football machine. Familiarity should be rendering wish fulfilment impossible. But we still want to believe there is a better place, just too far away to see clearly. Last night we learned it doesn't exist. 

Baby it's wet outside

When I got the email cancelling the Bec 25 yesterday I was thoroughly pissed off. An hour later seeing Cav scrape himself off the Tarmac and limp over the line did not improve my mood. I went to the garage to tinker with my bikes. With no TT I fettled my lovely Fest road bike for the club run this morning. The forecasts said it would be overcast but dry. I am sure the Yahoo weather app is moderated by a crazed optimist. I can hear the rain, I look through the blinds and can see the wet roads. Now, only now when confronted by this undenial truth the the app accept it is wet. But I won't let it lie, making more empty promises with its picture of a little sun peaking out from behind the cloud.

Get on with it man, its wet outside. Get over it.

Eels Albert Hall and another time and place

There was a strand of Americsn Rock that emerged in the post grunge 90's that would have passed many British observes by, half drowned as it was in the drab thud of Britpop. Sparklehorse, Silver Jews and most successful, Mark E's Eels produce a brand of subtle introspective music that was in many ways so far ahead of what was happening here. Like softly spoken geniuses in a bar full of beered up pole dancing fans they were easy to ignore. Eels first album was bursting with great slices of what Mark E describes a bummer rock. In 1997 I saw them in a tent at the Reading Festival. It was a tipping point year for me. The sun was shining a Palace side featuring Atillio Lombardo were beating Leeds away from home but the music that day felt dead. Bands like Travis, wannadies and The Cardigans confirming that if there had been a party the drinks cabinet was now very empty. Eels were my last big hope for the day.

Then a 3 piece Mark E seemed at odds with the experience from the start. A round peg making itself square just to piss off the hole. The songs were discordant, he was tetchy. Dumping the familiar arrangements of songs from the album they seemed to want to prevent the audience connecting. Novocain for the Soul was almost unrecognisable and to be honest pretty shit compared to the record. This was not a band playing badly, it was a band deliberately seeing to confound. After a long day of standing around drinking lager in plastic glasses I wanted the easy option. I didn't want to be challenged. Ending the day feeling let down by a band I loved came to fit in my nemory with the wider malaise that hung over the day.

Time passes and I end up with a pair of tickets to see Eels at the Albert Hall. Though I had continued to buy the albums, that day in 1997 remained the only time I had seen them live. I kind of guessed that so much time had passed that it bound to be very different, but I wasn't sure how. Based on the experience of 1997 to sound of the recorded work did not make me feel on safe ground. In many ways everything had change yet the core remained the same. E had adopted the raconteur style of  stoner Tom Waites. Self mockery and in jokes with the crowd tipping the wink that there was a smile behind the underbite scowl, at least some of the time. The band had grown and changed. The drummer with the tache and stretson, and the bass player with the comic deep voice had gone. They had probably been gone for 10 years if Ruth be known. But of an artist that has played so often with different persona and styles this set also revealed a very clear trajectory. At set that balanced the bummer with redemptions nod smiles. 'Line in the dirt' opens with 'she locked herself in the bathroom again, so I'm pissing in the yard' a deadpan take on flat lives that brings to mind writers like array mind Carver.

The 48 year old me tapping my foot in thr box in the grand tier wondered what the 18 year old me would have thought of this. But the sound was great, the view was great and it was easy to get a beer. The middle aged me was happy with that. There was a great set up. During the set E bemoans not being able to use the Hall's grand pipe organ. The set carried on through a series of encores, the highlight for he being a tender rendition of 'last stop this time.' When the band finally leaves the stage there was a sense there maybe more. Suddenly the backdrop falls away and E appears phantom of the opera style, manic stage laughter and all, an get to play a few brooding bars on what I guess must be one of the biggest musical instruments in the world, before slipping away once again.

It was a wonderful show from a band that still ploughs their own furrow, but have learnt to love putting on a show.